MECIJM 

ERE      MODOS      LKVIORJE     FLUCTR  O. 


SKETCHES   IN   VERSE. 


Mecum... 

Quaere  modes  leviore  plectro. 


PRINTED  TOR  C.  &  A.  CONRAD  &  Co.  PHILADELPHIA, 

BY  SMITH  &  MAXWELL. 

1810. 


PREFACE. 


MOST  of  the  following  "Sketches5  have 
already  appeared  in  The  Port  Folio;  but 
as  the  former  volumes  of  that  Literary 
Journal  are  out  of  print,  I  have  connected 
them  in  this  form.  The  author,  who  loves 
the  sylvan  life,  and  courts  Retirement^ 
rather  than  Observation,  shrunk,  with  no 
affected  coyness,  from  the  project  of  pub 
lishing  these  little  poems,  which  were  writ 
ten  merely  to  beguile  "Time's  tediousness," 
and,  generally,  in  a  humour  so  perfectly 
careless,  that  when  he  took  up  the  pen,  he 
knew  not  whether  a  stanza  to  Love*  or  a 

JVJ5S5483 


VI 


sonnet  to  Indifference  would  be  the  conse 
quence.  As  my  opinion  of  their  merit  differs 
from  his,  I  take  this  method  to  get  the 
criticks  to  decide  between  us.  His  senti 
ments  of  them  will  be  best  seen  by  the 
following  letter  to 

THE  EDITOR. 


TO  JOSEPH  DENNIE,  ESQ. 


DEAR  DENNIE, 

I  SUBMIT  the  propriety  of  collecting 
the  poetick  trifles,  which  you  mention,  en 
tirely  to  your  own  judgment;  notwithstand 
ing  my  assurance,  that  you  will  suffer  it, 
in  this  instance,  as  you  do  in  every  thing 
which  affects  their  author,  to  be  biassed  by 
your  friendship.  It  wears  no  favourable 
appearance  to  have  scribbled  so  many 
verses;  but  there  are  hours,  in  which  the 
mind  is  in  such  a  half  active,  half  listless 
state,  that  if  we  have  no  friend  by  us  to 
interest,  nor  book  to  amuse,  it  will  recline 


Vlll 


itself  upon  any  thing,  rather  than  bear  "the 
pains  and  penalties  of  idleness/5  At  such 
times,  and  when,  as  Dr.  YOUNG  says, 

Perhaps  a  title  had  my  fancy  hit, 

Or  a  quaint  motto,  which  I  thought  had  wit, 

the  most  of  them  were  written.  If  you  really 
think  them  worthy  of  publication,  they 
should  have  some  very  modest  title;  per 
haps  Sketches  in  Verse  might  do,  as  they 
are,  at  best,  but  a  kind  of  chalk  drawings. 
Your  favourite,  HORACE,  could  supply  a 
motto*  in  the  two  last  lines  of  his  first 
Ode  to  Asinius  Pollio,  omitting  the  Dio- 
naeo  sub  antro. 

To  the  publication  of  the  volume,  how 
ever,  I  will  consent  only  on  the  condition 
that  it  be  addressed  to  you,  as  a  trifling 
mark  of  my  affection. 

R.  H.  R* 


SKETCHES  IN  VERSE. 


THE  STYLE  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY 


IMITATED. 


IF  heavenlie  beautye  may  thy  passion  move, 
If  gentle  courtesie  can  charme  thy  mynde, 
Let  not  thine  eyes  e'er  stray  to  her  I  love ; 
O  liste  not  to  her  wordes  moste  swete  and  kynde ! 
Though  swete  and  kynde  her  wordes,  and  voide 

of  arte, 
Yet  colde  Indifference  dwelleth  in  her  hearte. 


10 


Dost  thou  admire  a  lookeboth  bryghte  and  meke  ? 
The  starre  of  eve  beames  in  her  modeste  eye: 
Lov'st  thou  the  rose? — 'tis  on  her  blushynge 

cheke, 

And  lendes  its  honied  fragrance  to  her  sigh. 
Alas !  that  she  should  sigh  my  payne  to  see, 
Yet  still  escape  from  Love's  captivity ! 

Where,  where  can  I,  to  shunne  the  archer's  aime, 
Flie  from  those  charmes  that  have  my  peace  un- 

donne  ? 
To  Wisdome's  page? — No !  Wisdome  fannes  my 

flame, 

And  Vertue  sayes,  thy  JANE  and  I  are  one — 
Ah  me!  that  hopelesse  I  am  doomde  to  pyne, 
To  see  those  swetes,  yet  may  not  call  them  myne ! 


11 


OBERON  TO  TITANIA. 


I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Where  oxlip  and  the  nodding  violet  grows, 
Quite  over- canopied  with  lush  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk  roses,  and  with  eglantine; 
There  sleeps  Titania,  some  time  of  the  night, 
Lull'd  in  those  flowers  with  dances  and  delight. 

Midsummer- Night* s  Dream. 


THE  bumblebee  hath  homeward  sped, 
Long  since,  to  rest  from  toil  till  morn; 

The  merry  bat  hath  left  his  bed, 

The  shard-borne  beetle  blown  his  horn 

Bright  Phoebe  now,  in  solemn  state, 
Casts  her  light  mantle  on  the  grove, 

Where  elfin  bands  expecting  wait 
To  hail  the  festal  rites  of  love. 


12 


Blithe  Puck  hath  chas'd  the  dews  away. 
Except  some  drops  to  gem  the  flowers, 

Which  scatter  fragrance  on  the  way 
That  winds  among  the  fairy  bowers. 

Nor  is  a  sacred  place  forgot, 

AVhere  no  rude  fairy  dares  intrude; 

For  thee,  sweet  love,  I've  decked  a  grot, 
Embosomed  deep  within  the  wood. 

With  myrtle  leaves  its  floor  is  spread, 
The  emblems  of  my  faithful  vow; 

The  musk  rose  blushes  o'er  our  bed — 
Yet  where,  Titania,  where  art  thou  ? 


The  shard-borne  beetle.] 

The  shard-borne  beetle  with  his  drowsy  hum 
Hath  rung  night's  yawning  peal. 


SHAKSPEARK. 


13 


Casts  her  light  mantle.^ 

The  moon, 

Rising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length, 
Apparent  queen,  unveiled  her  peerless  light, 
And  o'er  the  dark  her  stiver  mantle  threw. 

Par.  Lost. 

This  is  finely  in  opposition  to  SHAKSPEARE'S 
"blanket  of  the  dark/5  which  the  lady  is 
unwilling  that  heaven  shall  "  peep  through." 
See  Macbeth. 

According  to  HORACE,  Venus  and  the 
Graces  love  to  sport  "all  in  the  moony 
light:" 


Jam  Cytherea  choros  ducit  Venus,  imminent*  Luna: 

Junctaeque  nymphis  Gratiae  decentes, 
Alterno  terrain  quatiunt  pede. 

But,  probably,  some  persons  may  object  to 
this  dance,  as  being  rather  too  wanton: 

For  the  Graces,  and  'tis  scandalous, 

Go  mother-naked. 


14 


FROM 


STEPHANUS  FORCATULUS 


Emersam  ex  undis  Venerem  cur  pingis  Apelles?  &c, 


AND  was  it  you,  Apelles,  you, 

Who  thus  the  Cyprian  goddess  drew? 

And  to  the  canvas,  breathing,  warm, 

Imparted  a  more  heavenly  form 

Emerging  from  old  ocean's  wave, 

Than  ever  poet's  fancy  gave  ? 

O  ne'er  could  ocean's  wide  domain 

That  store  of  heavenly  charms  contain ! 

Ne'er  could  his  briny  waters  cold, 

That  warm  and  blushing  beauty  hold! 


15 


No,  it  was  from  the  foaming  stream, 
Which  sparkles  like  the  solar  beam, 
And  in  my  brimming  goblet  flows, 
The  wanton  queen  of  love  arose  : 
And  thence,  yes,  thence  it  was,  she  stole 
Her  maddening  influence  o'er  my  soul. 


16 


I  DO  not  know  that  there  is  much  simi 
larity  between  them,  but  while  writing  the 
following  Sonnet,  that  Spanish  one  suggested 
itself  to  me,  which  begins : 

Un  Soneto  me  manda  hazer  Violante, 

and  which  VOITURE  has  translated  : 

Ma  foi,  c'est  fait  de  moi,  car  Isabeau 
M'a  conjure  de  lui  faire  un  rondeau,  &c. 

You  will  judge  whether  the  idea  of  mine  be 
stolen  or  not.  I  think  not;  but  the  point  is 
scarcely  worth  contesting. 

INSTRUCTIONS  TO  MANUFACTURERS. 

WHAT!  you  would  write  a  Sonnet ! — sit  you  down, 
And  take  your  pen,  no  matter  for  the  theme, 
So  it  be  dull  and  sad — a  waking  dream ; 

And,  careless  of  the  peevish  Muse's  frown. 


17 


Run  stanza  into  stanza.    Break  your  lines, 

And  form  them  that  the  first  and  fourth 
may  chime, 

And  to  the  third  the  second  be  the  rhyme. 
Oft  introduce  a  colon:  but  when  shines 
A  gleam  of  passion,  never  then  neglect 

A  note  of  admiration,  and  an  Oh! 

For  thus  you  will  display  a  deal  of  wo, 
And  to  your  Sonnet  give  a  fine  effect. 
Then  lug  two  limping  lines  in,  at  the  close, 
And  swear  'tis  thus  the  great  PETRARCHA'S 
metre  flows. 


18 


TO  A  BELLE. 


My  wooing  mind  shall  be  exprcss'd 
In  russet  yeas,  and  honest  kersey  noes. 
Love's  Labour  Lost. 


WHILE  fluttering  beaux  around  you  sigh, 
And,  simpering,  swear  their  love  is  true; 

Say  of  those  eyes  you  robb'd  the  sky, 
And  from  Aurora  stole  her  hue; 

And  talk  of  snow,  and  flames,  and  darts, 
Ecstatick  love,  and  torturing  pain, 

And  turtle  doves,  and  bleeding  hearts, 

And  charms  that  might  make  Venus  vain; 


19 


I,  lady,  if  I  must  express 

My  passion,  to  be  understood, 

Think  you  no  goddess — nay,  confess 
I  love  you  more  as  flesh  and  blood. 


20 


THE  little  winged  god  is  obliged  to 
undergo  many  metamorphoses.  COWLEY, 
in  one  place,  makes  him  a  husbandman: 

Love  does  on  both  her  lips  forever  stray, 
And  sows  and  reaps  a  thousand  kisses  there. 

This  might  be  tolerated,  as  his  mistress  is 
spoken  of  as  a  quantity  of  corn  : 

Thou  now  one  heap  of  beauty  art. 

But  he  can  never  be  pardoned  for  converting 
him  into  an  abominable  apothecary: 

Cordials  of  pity  give  me  now, 
For  I  too  weak  for  purging  grow. 

He  must,  indeed,  have  had  the  "  quotidian 
of  love  upon  him,"  with  a  vengeance. 


21 


"  Your  true  lovyer"  (as  the  learned  Mrs. 
GLASSE  instructs  us  of  a  welch-rabbit)  must 
be  served  up  hot,  or  he  is  good  for  nothing. 
P.  FRANCIUS  says: 

Aestuat  intus, 
Et  mea  nescio  quis  viscera  torret  amor. 

And  HERCULES  STROZA  bawls  out,  as  if  poor 
Cupid  was  a  perfect  incendiary: 

Uror,  io,  saevas,  remove,  puer  improbe!  flammas; 
Uror,  &c. 

The  best  remedy  for  a  person  in  such  a 
situation,  would  be,  to  bring  another,  of  a 
different  description,  in  contact  with  him; 
as,  for  example,  the  following,  who,  I  think, 
would  very  quickly  extinguish  his  flames : 

In  fontes  abeunt  oculi,  sensimque  liquescit 
Corpus,  et  humectat  lacrymarum  pascua  rivo. 
Supremum,  o  Amarylli,  vale;  vale,  6  Amarylli. 


22 


Ille  tuus  quondam  pastor,  tuus  ardor  Alexis 
Flumen  erit:  tuus  in  fiumen  mutatur  Alexis. 

With  an  infinite  number  of  these  beautiful 
examples  before  me,  I  have  endeavoured  to 
indite  a  few 


STANZAS, 

IN  IMITATION  OF  THE  MOST  APPROVED  WRITERS 
OF  LOVE-VERSES. 

I'  ho  d'  amara  dolcezza  il  mio  cor  pieno, 
Come  amor  vuole,  e  d'  un  dolce  veneno. 

LORENZO  DE'  MEDICI. 

O  LOVE  !  thou  source  of  each  delight, 
Which  mortal  bosoms  know, 

What  raptures  live  within  thy  sight! 
From  thee  what  transports  flow! 


23 


And  yet,  too  oft  the  potent  dart 

From  thee  envenomed  flies; 
Too  often,  from  a  tender  heart, 

The  wretched  lover  dies. 

Thus,  with  my  Delia's  presence  blest, 

I  feel  an  anxious  care; 
And,  sighing,  seek  in  vain  for  rest, 

When  absent  from  the  fair. 

Yet,  from  thy  soul-encircling  chain 

May  I  be  never  free! 
But  always  bear  thy  pleasing  pain, 

Thy  blissful  agony ! ! 

Absurd  as  all  this  is,  it  is  very  probable 
that  one  half  of  the  readers  of  poetry  would 
consider  it  as  a  fine  address  to  the  divinity 


24 


of  Love.  I  know  not  what  the  amatory  po 
ets  would  do  without  their  agonizing  bliss 
and  blissful  agony,  the  dolcezze  amarissime 
d'amore,  on  which  they  "doleful  changes 
ring"  with  so  much  grace  and  effect;  and 
which  is,  almost  literally,  their  "meat,  fire, 
and  clothes,"  and  "meat,  clothes,  and  fire." 
The  Italians  have  an  old  proverb,  some 
what  different  from  the  general  spirit  of 
their  nation,  and  worse  than  SHAKSPEARE'S 
opinion  that  the  lunatick  and  lover  are  much 
alike:  Un  vero  amante  e  un  vero  pazzo.  And 
MOLIERE  has  the  same  sentiment  in  his  Tar- 
tuffe :  A  vous  dire  le  vrai,  les  amans  sont  bien 
fous!  But  in  some  other  part  of  his  works 
he  explains  this;  for  he  declares,  as  be 
comes  a  Frenchman  :  Les  plus  sages  sont 
ceux  qui  sont  les  plus  fous. 


25 


SHAKSPEARE  makes  Romeo  exclaim  of 
love: 

O  heavy  lightness !  serious  vanity ! 

Feather  of  lead,  bright  smoke,  cold  fire,  sick  health ! 

#  #  # 

What  is  it  else  ? — a  madness  most  discreet, 

A  choking  gall,  and  a  preserving  sweet. 

BONEFONIUS,  in  his  Basium  beginning 
Salve  melque  meum,  atque  amaritudo,  amu 
ses  himself  with  a  long  strain  of  antitheses. 
And,  in  like  manner,  BUCHANAN  mentions 
the  effects  of  love : 

Sic  mentem  mala  pestis  occupavit, 
Ut  sit  Hectare  suavius  venenum, 
Vita  mors  potior,  labor  quiete, 
Sanitate  furor,  salute  morbus. 


26 


A  PASTORAL  LOVE-DITTY. 


This  is  the  right  Butterwoman's  rate  to  market. 

SHAKSPEARE. 


WHERE  Schuylkill  o'er  his  rocky  bed 

Roars,  like  a  bull  in  battle, 
In  neat  log-cabin  lives  a  maid, 

Who  tends  her  father's  cattle ; 
With  ev'ry  charm  of  form  and  face, 

Young,  handsome,  gay,  and  witty, 
She  weekly  rides,  with  wond'rous  grace ! 

With  butter  to  the  city. 


27 


Her  churns  and  pails,  scour'd  white  as  snow, 

Are  placed  upon  the  dresser, 
And  pewter  plates,  in  many  a  row, 

Where  you  might  see  your  face,  Sir : 
She'll  raise  the  haycock  on  the  mead, 

Or  toss  it  out,  so  pretty; 
Or,  mounted  on  old  Gray,  will  speed 

With  butter  to  the  city. 

To  see  her  panting  o'er  her  churn, 

With  charms  so  flushed  and  glowing, 
Would  make  a  hermit's  bosom  burn, 

His  frozen  blood  set  flowing : 
But  all  the  lads  their  art  have  tried, 

In  vain,  to  move  her  pity ; 
She  jeers,  then  mounts  old  Gray,  to  ride 

With  butter  to  the  city. 


28 


Ah  me !  though  us'd  to  stir  my  stumps. 

My  cart  I  scarce  can  follow, 
While,  sharing  in  his  master's  dumps, 

Not  Dobbin  minds  my  hollo  ! 
O!  could  I  make  this  lass  my  bride, 

Could  I  but  marry  Kitty, 
Together  in  my  cart,  we'd  ride 

With  butter  to  the  city ! 


Where  Schuylkill,  &c.] 

Our  American  names,  although  some  of 
them  are  truly  savage,  are  not  much  worse 
than  many  of  those  with  which  we  might  be 
furnished  by  other  nations  in  abundance; 
and  Schuylkill  would  not  have  offended  the 
ears  of  BOILEAU  more  than  the  Whal  and 
the  Leek,  the  Issel  and  the  Zuiderzee,  if  we 


29 


may  judge  from  the  following  lines  in  his 
fourth  epistle  to  the  King: 

En  vain  pour  te  louer  ma  Muse  toujours  prete 
Vingt  fois  de  la  Hollande  a  tente  la  conquete : 
Ce  pays,  ou  cent  murs  n'ont  pu  te  re  sister, 
Grand  Roi,  n'est  pas  en  vers  si  facile  a  dompter. 
Des  villes  que  tu  prends  les  noms  durs  et  barbares 
N'offrent  de  toutes  parts  que  syllabes  bizarres; 
Et,  Poreille  effrayee,  il  faut  depuis  1'Issel, 
Pour  trouver  un  beau  mot  courir  jusqu'au  Tessel. 
Oui,  partout  de  son  nom  chaque  place  munie 
Tient  bon  contre  le  vers,  en  detruit  1'harmonie. 
Et  qui  peut  sans  fremir  aborder  Wocrden? 
Quel  vers  ne  tomberait  au  seul  nom  de  Heusden? 
Quelle  Muse  a  rimer  en  tous  lieux  disposee 
Oserait  approcher  des  bords  du  Zuiderzee? 

% 

Comment  en  vers  heureux  assieger  Doesbourg, 
Zutphen,  Wageninghen,  Harderwic,  Knotzembourg? 
II  n'est  fort,  entre  ceux  que  tu  prends  par  centaines, 
Qui  ne  puisse  arreter  un  rimeur  six  semaines: 
Et  partout  sur  le  Whal,  ainsi  que  sur  le  Leek, 
Le  vers  est  en  deroute,  et  le  poete  a  sec. 

We  could,  perhaps,  in  a  case  of  absolute 
necessity,  obtain  from  our  good  State,  a  list 


so 


of  names  that  would  give  a  rhymer  six  weeks 
labour.  On  looking  over  the  map  will  be 
found  Chincleclamoose,  Yoxiogheny,  Kiske- 
minetas,  Mohulbuctitum,  Koshanuadeago, 
Caweeneindah,  Tushanushagota,  and  an  et 
caetera  of  sesquipedalia  verba,  to  form  a 

Language  which  Boreas  might  to  Auster  hold, 
More  rough  than  forty  Germans  when  they  scold. 

It  is  to  be  hoped,  however,  that  our  fellow- 
citizens  will  not  laugh  at  poor  Pennsylva 
nia,  while  they  have  among  them,  to  the 
Eastward,  such  places  as  Pog,  Putchog,  Po- 
takunk,  and  Pogwunk;  and  to  the  South 
ward,  Pamunkey,  Piankatank,  Chickahomi- 
ny,  Currituck,  Pedee,  Cheraw,  Coosee,  &c. 
Any  traveller  who  has  done  us  the  honour 
to  come  all  the  way  from  Europe,  to  cast 
his  eyes  on  the  deplorable  manner,  in  which 


31 


the  miserable  and  half-organised  inhabi 
tants  of  the  United  States  crawl  through  life, 
would  console  us,  in  the  words  of  one  of  MIL 
TON'S  sonnets,  with  the  declaration  that 

Those  rugged  names  in  our  like  mouths  grow  sleek, 
Which  would  have  made  Quintilian  stare  and  gasp. 

And  that  it  would  be  unnecessary  for  us  to 
prepare  ourselves  for  their  articulation,  by 
filing  our  teeth  to  the  gums,  as  we  are  told 
St.  JEROM  did,  to  enable  him  to  pronounce 
Hebrew. 


32 


A  PARTING  ADDRESS 


TO  THE 


INHABITANTS  OF  THE  ISLAND  OF  ELBA. 


A  MONTH  Fve  been  upon  your  shore, 
And  may  I  be  condemned,  no  more 

To  know  love's  soft  embraces, 
If  'tis  not  my  most  ardent  prayer, 
That  I  may  ne'er  have  the  despair 

To  view,  again,  your  faces. 

A  dastard,  swindling,  lawless  race, 
Are  ye;  of  nature  the  disgrace — 
At  least  such  I  have  found  you; 


33 


Alike  to  honour  lost  and  fame, 
Devoid  of  virtue,  dead  to  shame, 
So  fully  vice  has  crown' d  you! 

Had  Justice  here  fix'd  her  abode, 
From  earth  of  crimes  to  drive  a  load, 

By  thousands  she'd  have  strung  you. 
For  me — the  wretch  whom  most  I  hate, 
I  could  not  wish  so  cursM  by  fate, 

As  damn'd  to  live  among  you. 


34 


O  sweet-suggesting  love,  if  thou  hast  sinn'd, 
Teach  me,  thy  tempted  subject,  to  excuse  it. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

I  SWORE  I  loved,  and  true  I  swore, 
Then  blame  me  not  that  you  believed  me ; 

Nor,  sinee  my  fickle  passion's  o'er, 
In  anger  say  that  I  deceived  thee. 

I  loved  thee  when  I  swore  I  loved, 

And  thought  my  love  would  last  forever; 

I  thought — I  who  so  oft  had  roved — 
I  never  more  could  change — no,  never ! 

I  wish'd  to  lay  my  heart  at  rest, 
Secure  from  life's  tumultuous  ocean; 

And  thought,  that  on  thy  gentle  breast 
It  could  repose,  with  sweet  emotion. 


35 


I  know  thou'rt  good,  I  know  thou'rt  kind; 

For  various  ways  Fve  had  to  prove  thee; 
Alas !  inconstant  as  the  wind, 

What  would  I  give  I  still  could  love  thee ! 


36 


Oscula,  quae  Venus 
Quinta  parte  sui  nectaris  imbuit. 

HORACE. 


WELL — I  have  found  my  heart  again, 
And  now,  my  fair,  we  both  are  free; 

How  strange  that  I  could  bear  the  ehain 
So  long,  and  bear  it,  too,  for  thee ! 

Since,  said  the  maid,  since  we  must  part, 
And  love's  delusions  all  are  o'er; 

Since  you  have  taken  back  your  heart, 
And  we,  perhaps,  shall  meet  no  more  : 

Since  here  we  bid  adieu  to  bliss, 
And  all  our  fond  delirium  ends, 

Farewell! — but  not  without  a  kiss — 
One  kiss! — and  we  will  part — as  friends. 


37 


Ah,  wily  girl !  full  well  you  knew 
What  naagick  hung  upon  your  lip; 

For  when  the  nectar'd  draught  I  drew, 
As  bees  their  honied  beverage  sip, 

Again  the  stream  of  liquid  fire 
Impetuous  pour'd  through  ev'ry  vein; 

My  pulses  beat  with  new  desire; 
Ah  me!  my  heart  was  lost  again. 


For  when  the  nectar9 d  draught,  &c.] 

JANUS  DUZA,  speaking  of  "love's  thrice 
reputed  nectar,"  closely  imitates  the  lines 
of  HORACE  which  elicited  the  preceding 
stanzas: 

O  suavia  grata,  nomine  et  re 
Vere  suavia,  quae  sui  ipsa  parte 
Quinta  nectaris  imbuit  Dione. 


38 


Poets  have  always  enjoyed  full  liberty  to 
drink  whatever  neetar  and  honey  they  plea 
sed  from  the  lips  of  their  charmers ;  and  it 
is  an  article  of  their  creed,  that  every  sweet 
girl  has,  like  the  infant  Pindar,  a  swarm  of 
bees  upon  her  mouth.  The  amorous  LER- 
NUTIUS  exclaims,  perfectly  in  style, 

Extruite  heic  cellas,  volucres  florentis  Hymetti, 

Et  dominae  in  roseis  mellificate  labris: 
Nam  quaecunque  meae  libaverit  oscula  Hyellae, 

Ultra  Cecropias  nectar  habebit  apes. 

FORCATULUS  compares  love  to  a  bee, 
JW/m  spicula  melle  mixta  gerunt:  Though 
some  churlish  husbands  may  say, 

The  ungrateful  spoilers  left  their  sting, 
And  with  the  honey  fled  away ; 

and,  therefore,  endeavour  to  excuse  their 
so  seldom  seeking  for  it. 


39 


The  impassioned  JAYADEVA,  in  the  mel 
lifluous  language  of  the  great  Orientalist, 
entreats :  "  O  grant  me  a  draught  of  honey 
from  the  lotos  of  thy  mouth !  O  suffer  me 
to  quaff  the  liquid  bliss  of  those  lips !"  And 
SOLOMON  says,  "Thy  lips,  O  my  spouse! 
drop  as  the  honeycomb;  honey  and  milk 
are  under  thy  tongue/5 

SANNAZARIUS  thus  describes  the  kisses 
of  Nina: 


Haec  sunt  suavia  dulciora  melle 
Hyblaeo,  et  Siculae  liquore  cannae : 
Haec  sola  ambrosiaeque,  nectarisque 
Succos  fundere,  sola  habere  possunt. 


This  dulciora  Siculae  liquore  cannae  (swee 
ter  than  molasses)  is  exactly  conformable 
to  our  Yankee  taste. 


40 


Almost  all  the  modern  amatory  latinists, 
when  on  this  subject,  are  so  elevated  as  to 
get  fairly  into  the  skies.  Even  that  rival 
of  ERASMUS,  BUCHANAN,  translates  thus  a 
Greek  epigram,  to  be  found  in  the  Antho- 
logia : 

Cum  das  basia,  nectaris,  Neaera, 
Das  mi  pocula,  das  dapes  Deorum. 

And  DUZA  becomes  so  inebriatus  osculis, 
that  he  exclaims : 

Pro  potu  mihi  sibila,  atque  risus, 
Et  suctae  teneris  labris  salivae, 
Plenae  nectaris,  et  dapis  Deorum. 

He  surely  wanted  "an  ounce  of  civet,  to 
sweeten  his  imagination." 

The  multitude  of  authors  who  have  writ 
ten  in  this  manner  is  astonishing;  each  one 


41 


endeavouring  to  soar  beyond  all  the  others, 
and,  truly,  many  of  them  have  gone  so  far 
as  to  leave  poor  sense  and  nature  entirely 
out  of  sight.  SECUNDUS  says: 

Non  dat  basia,  dat  Neaera  nectar, 

Dat  rores  animae  suave-olentes; 

Dat  nardumque,  thymumque,  cinnamumque; 

Et  mel. 

g 

This  is  silly  enough  to  be  sure,  but  not  to 
be  compared  to  DUZA'S  description  of  the 
kisses  of  Rosilla.  As  you  may  not  have 
his  work  by  you,  I  will  transcribe  the  pas 
sage  in  question: 

Non  sunt  basia  quae  Rosilla  donat, 
Dat  Hyblam  mihi,  dat  Rosilla  mulsum, 
Atticosque  et  Hymettios  sapores, 
Dat  nardi,  xylobalsamique  succos, 
Auram  Corycii  croci,  recensque 
Rapta  succina  de  manu  puellae, 


42 


Dat  stacten,  balanumque,  saccharumque, 

Pastilles  casiae,  atque  cinnamomi, 

Thymum,  lilia,  rosmarisque  florem : 

His  amaracinum  adde,  murrhinamque, 

Narcissos,  violaria,  et  roseta, 

Adde  et  malobathrum,  Syrumque  olivum, 

Et  quantum  ambrosiaeque,  nectarisque,  &c. 

Again  the  stream,  &c.] 

These  wonderful  effects  were,  doubtless, 
produced  by  animal  magnetism. 

My  heart  was  lost  again.~\ 

ROCHEFOUCAULD  says,  II  est  impossible 
d*  aimer  une  seconde  fois,  ce  que  I'on  a  veri- 
tablement  cesse  d' aimer.  But  this  is  only, 
as  M.  L'Abbe  de  LA  ROCHE  very  gravely 
remarks,  Quand  le  fondement  de  la  rupture 
a  ete  juste  et  solide;  mats  lorsqu'il  nja  ete  que 
leger  et  capricieux,  les  coeurs  lesplus  eloignes 
se  rapprochent.  Of  course,  I  must  suppose 


43 


that  I  had  not  been  perfectly  cured;  but  had 
merely  a  slight  intermission,  and  was  in 
that  stage  of  the  disease,  which  is  very 
elegantly  called  pouting. — ALDINI  could 
inform  us  how  a  man  might  run  about 
without  his  heart. 


44 


This  is  the  right  liver- vein,  which  makes  flesh  a  deity ; 
A  green  goose,  a  goddess. 


SHAKSPEARE. 


AH  !  lovely  maiden,  do  not  slight, 

A  youth  whose  heart  thy  charms  inflame; 
Nor  hide  those  beauties  from  his  sight, 
When  death  and  absence  are  the  same. 
Ah  turn!  in  pity  turn,  to  see 
The  youth  who  sighs — who  dies,  for  thee 

While  others  for  thy  smiles  implore, 
And  practise  each  seductive  art, 

He  offers — he  can  boast  no  more, 
A  simple,  but  a  constant  heart. 
Ah  turn,  &c. 


45 


If  you  command  him  to  expire, 
Alas!  your  lover  shall  obey; 

And,  proving  all  his  fond  desire, 
By  death  his  constancy  display. 
Ah  turn!  &c. 


46 


AMATORY  STANZAS 

ATTEMPTED  IN  A  VERY  SIMPLE  STYLE, 

TO  MOLLY. 

MOLL i  mollior  anseris  medulla! 

SECUNDUS. 

MOLLI  delicatior  rosa! 

PONT  ANUS. 

WHY  from  my  bosom  bursts  the  sigh  ? 

Why  do  1  feel  this  gentle  flame  ? 
Why  do  I  often,  often  try, 

But  all  in  vain,  its  cause  to  name  ? 

Why  is  the  name  of  Molly  found 

Forever  in  my  simple  song  ? 
Oh!  tell  me,  why  will  that  loved  sound 

Forever  tremble  on  my  tongue  ? 


47 


Could  you  but  see  my  constant  heart, 
And  read  each  thought  that's  written  there, 

'Twould  to  your  gentle  breast  impart 
More  than  my  words  can  e'er  declare. 

Ah!  Molly,  do  you  ever  sigh? 

Or  ever  feel  a  gentle  flame? 
And  ever,  dearest  Molly,  try, 

But  all  in  vain,  its  cause  to  name? 


48 


Credimus,  an,  qui  amant,  ipsi  sibi  somnia  fingunt? 

VIRGIL. 


'TWAS  at  the  sultry  noontide  hour, 
To  shun  the  fervours  of  the  plain. 

When  Mary  sought  her  favourite  bower, 
And,  sweetly  pensive,  sung  this  strain: 

O  haste,  my  love,  to  Mary's  arms, 
Nor  longer  from  thy  mistress  rove! 

Nature  without  thee  has  no  charms — 
O  haste  to  bless  thy  Mary's  love ! 

Enraptured  by  the  charmer's  theme, 
To  press  her  to  my  breast  I  flew; 

But,  waking,  found  'twas  all  a  dream, 
And  heard  nought  but  the  cat  cry — mew!! 


49 


FROM  THE  ITALIAN. 


Go  ye,  who,  rioting  amid  the  sweets 
Profusely  scattered  round  you,  rashly  cry, 
While  the  Circean  cup  is  mantling  high, 

That  Care  shall  never  enter  your  retreats! 

Go,  revel  in  your  wine  and  festive  joy, 
With  hearts  as  sportive  as  the  summer  breeze ! 

And  think  your  brimming  cup  can  never  cloy, 
Nor  bear  a  bitter  "poison  in  its  lees!5* 

Go,  seize  the  visions  of  your  fleeting  hour ! 

I  quit  you  for  the  soul-appalling  power, 

That  rides  upon  the  lowering  tempest's  wings, 

And  o'er  my  fate  a  dreadful  darkness  flings. 


50 


So  long  have  we  been  mated,  fell  Despair, 
That  now  I  love  thy  wild  and  haggard  air, 

And  all  the  Gorgon  horrours  of  thy  brow. 
I  greet  thee,  as  an  old  and  welcome  guest, 
And  would  not  of  thy  tortures  rid  my  breast 

For  all  this  world  can  promise.     Even  now, 
When  thou  dost  point  to  my  distempered  view 
The  fairy  scenes,  which,  ah!  so  swiftly  flew! 
Where  Love  and  Fancy  formed  of  wastes  of 
flowers 

A  wilderness  of  ever-varying  bliss, 
Through  which,  in  union  linked,  the  dancing 

Led  me,  a  willing  captive ; — and  say'st  this, 
This  dark,  cold  grave  is  my  sole  refuge  here — 
Yes,  even  now,  to  me  thou  art  more  dear 
Than  all  the  joys  fantastick  mortals  prize, 


y 


/v// 


//v 


/f'//  — 


51 


As  through  the  mazy  paths  of  life  they  rove : 
For  thou  dost  point  the  way  to  meet  my  love, 
The  way  for  whieh  my  wearied  spirit  sighs — 
is  in  a  dark,  cold  grave  my  heart's  lost  trea 
sure  lies. 


52 


Os  tenerum  pueri  balbumque  poeta  figurat: 


I  wish  I  could  add, 


Torquet  ab  obscoenis  jam  nunc  sermonibus  aurem. 


THE  style  of  the  present  day  partakes 
much  of  the  prurient  and  infantine.  Should 
I  be  charged  with  being  guilty  of  the  for 
mer,  I  must  be  allowed  to  plead,  in  excuse, 
the  observation  of  the  profound  MARTINUS 
SCRIBLERUS,  that  it  is  "greatly  advanced 
and  honoured  of  late,  by  the  encouragement 

of  the  ladies:"   the  latter  is  when  a  poet 
becomes  so  very  simple,  as  to  think  and 


53 


talk  like  a  child;  and  which  may  very  pro 
perly  be  termed  "the  gentle  downhill  way 
to  the  bathos. "  When  they  are  united,  they 
perfectly  form  "the  bottom,  the  end,  the 
central  point,  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  modern 
poesy/5  This  union  is  not  unhappily  ex 
emplified  in  the  French  verses,  which,  for 
the  sake  of  wishing  youths  and  sighing  mai 
dens,  I  have  done,  or,  if  I  may  so  term  it, 
thrown  into  English.  They  are  a  very 
excellent  imitation  of  that  race  of  bards, 
to  whose  performances  the  language  of 
Touchstone  admirably  applies :  "I'll  rhyme 
you  thus  eight  years  together;  dinners,  and 
suppers,  and  sleeping  hours  excepted." 
In  the  expressions  of  Colin  and  Cuddy 
these  gentlemen  behold  the  true  simplicity 
of  nature;  and  a  deluge  of  rhyme,  which 


54 


they  call  poetry,  composed  of  a  medley  of 
childish  and  rustick  phrases,  pours  from 
the  Press. 

I  had  rather  be  a  kitten,  and  cry  mew, 

Than  one  of  these  same  metre-ballad  mongers. 


FROM  THE  FRENCH. 


L'autre  jour  Colin  maladc 

Dedans  son  lit, 
D'une  grosse  maladie 

Pensant  mourir;  &c. 


POOR  Colin  t'other  day  was  sick, 
Was  very  sick  upon  his  bed, 

And  of  his  sickness  he  did  think, 

Thinks  he,  it  sure  will  kill  me  dead. 


55 


Then  pondered  he  so  'bout  his  love, 
He  could  not  sleep  a  wink  for  spite; 

But  wished,  and  sighed,  and  wished  again, 
To  have  his  little  girl  all  night. 

Then  up  he  got  him,  ready  drest, 

(For  lovers  don't  put  off  their  clothes) 

And  at  his  mistress'  chamber  door 
He  gave  three  very  little  blows. 

Catin,  said  he,  sweet  shepherdess, 
Tell  me,  O  tell,  are  you  asleep? 

The  promise,  Catin,  that  you  made, 

Say,  will  you — will  you — won't  you  keep  ? 

Catin,  alack-a-day!  was  frail, 

And  up  she  got,  without  her  clothes, 

(Oh  maidens  never  do  ye  so!) 

And  to  the  door  full  quick  she  goes. 


56 


O  step,  step  softly — whisper  low, 
My  honey  sweet,,  my  Colin  dear! 

For  if  my  daddy  hears,  I  vow, 
He'll  be  the  death  of  me,  I  fear. 

Poor  Colin  stept  most  tremblingly, 
With  careful,  cautious,  cat-like  tread, 

And  'twixt  the  fair  one's  snowy  arms, 
He  gently  pillow  did  his  head. 

Now,  said  the  swain,  I  care  not  for 
The  ditch  I  tumbled  in  tonight, 

Since  I  have  got  within  my  arms 
My  only  dear,  my  heart's  delight. 

Laws!   Catin  cried,  I  hear  the  lark! 

It  sings  tit,  tit,  tit,  tit,  at  dawn; 
Oh!  if  you  will  do  as  you  should, 

You'll  get  you  up,  and  get  you  gone. 


57 


O  step,  step  softly — whisper  low, 
My  honey  sweet,  my  Colin  dear! 

For  if  my  daddy  hears,  I  vow, 
He'll  be  the  death  of  me,  I  fear. 


58 


A  LYRICAL  BALLAD. 


'Tis  all, 

All  very  simple,  meek  simplicity. 

IT  was  last  night,  dear  neighbour  JOE,  * 
Last  night  it  was,  as  I  may  say, 

Just  when  the  watchmen  lit  their  lamps, 
To  make  the  night  like  day. 

It  was  last  night  that  I  did  go 

Down  Second-street,  and  near  the  Dock; 
And  it  might  be,  but  Fm  not  sure, 

Just  about  eight  o'clock. 

It  was  last  night  that  I  walked  forth,  2 
All  by  myself,  down  Second-street, 

And  on  the  right  hand  way  I  went, 
The  right  hand  of  the  street. 


59 


I  was,  be  sure,  in  a  sweet  mood, 
And  not  at  all  to  grief  inclined; 

Though  well  we  know,  that  pleasant  thoughts 
Bring  sad  thoughts  to  the  mind.  3 

My  walkingstick  was  in  my  hand, 

And  in  my  hand  I  held  it  fast, 
I  took  it  in  my  own  right  hand, 

And  so,  right  on  I  past.  4 

I  well  may  hold  it  lovingly, 

For  'tis  a  right-down  honest  stiek, 

And  many,  many  a  mile  hath  been — 

'Tis  three  feet  long,  and  one  inch  thick.  5 

Yes,  'tis  a  right-down  honest  stick; 

In  truth  Fve  had  the  stick  so  long, 
And  'tis  so  old,  'tis  hard  to  say 

That  ever  it  was  young.  6 


60 


So  on  I  went,  foot  after  foot,  7 
Not  thinking,  onward  did  I  go ; 

For  animals  that  think,  we're  told, 
Move  always  rather  slow.  8 

And  I  did  meet  full  many  folks 
That  walked  also;  and  I,  alaek! 

Said,  how  'twould  take  a  deal  of  time 
For  them  all  to  walk  back. 

And  then  I  thought  of  them  I  met, 
Perhaps,  indeed,  there  might  be  some 

Who  were  not  going  far  away, 
And  others  going  home. 

And  so,  thinks  I,  it  may  be  so, 
And  on  I  went,  right  merrily; 

For  all  the  lamps  shone  bright,  and  I, 
In  sooth,  was  full  of  glee. 


61 


— jlow  these  things  will  come  to  pass, 
While  we  would  not  dream  of  the  matter! 

Who,  in  the  wonder,  should  I  see, 

But  one  as  like,  as  like  can  be, 9 
To  Molly,  drawing  water. 

She  had  a  pitcher  in  one  hand, 
It  was — I  saw  it — made  of  tin, 

Like  those  upon  the  shelf  at  home, 
So  round,  and  white,  and  thin. 

She  stood  by  them  there  what-d'ye-calls, 
From  which  they  get  the  water, 

Like  pumps,  but  yet  they  are  not  pumps, 10 
That  stand  beside  the  gutter. 

Them  things  like — like — I  can't  tell  what, 
They  splash  a  body  so;  in  fact, 

I  think  that  they  are  very  like 
A  mountain  cataract.  n 


62 


Them  things  that  gush,  gush,  gush  so  much, 12 
And  there,  as  sure  as  I'm  alive, 

By  her  stood  girls,  just  one,  two,  three ; 
And  men,  two,  three,  four,  five. 13 

I  gazed,  and  to  myself  I  said, 14 
'Tis  Molly!  Molly,  as  I  live!  15 

But  how  she  came  there,  Til  be  hanged 
If  I  a  guess  could  give. 

Yet,  though  there  were  so  many  by, 

I  was  not  daunted,  not  at  all; 
Though,  passion!  but  I  thought  it  strange 

To  see,  just  there,  our  Moll. 

And  so,  I  jostled  through  the  crowd, 

Though  I  could  scarcely  get  me  through, 

And  slap'd  her  on  the  back,  and  cried, 
"Why,  Molly!  how  d'ye  do?" 


63 


Oh,  neighbour  JOE  !  you  would  not  guess, 
No,  I  am  sure  you  would  not  hit 

The  truth,  if  you  would  guess  a  month — 16 
It  was  not  Moll  abit! 

No,  'twas  some  sulky,  crabbed  tike, 

Who  quickly  turned  round — ad  switch  her! 

And  whap!   she  emptied  in  my  face, 
Oh  misery!  the  pitcher. 

Well,  whap,  right  in  my  face  it  came, 
Or  in  my  mouth,  which  was  as  bad, 

And  made  me  sputter,  sputter,  sputter —  ir 
Odds  me,  I  felt  like  mad! 

But  what  was  worse  than  all  the  rest, 

At  least  as  bad,  and  very 
Unkind  of  them,  the  men  and  girls 

To  see  me  mad,  got  merry. 


64 


The  girls,  I've  said,,  were  one,  two,  three; 

Of  men,  two,  three,  four,  five,  I  saw, 
The  former  all  laughed  out  te,  he! 

The  latter,  haw!  haw!  haw! 

No  sooner  did  they  laugh  te,  he! 

Than  Dock-street  echoed  back  the  sound; 
And  Second-street  replied,  haw!  haw! 

And  so  it  went  around. 

The  one  still  echoing  te,  he ! 

The  other  echoing  haw!  haw! 
Haw!  haw!  te,  he!  haw!  haw!  te,  he! 

Te,  he!  haw!  haw!  haw!  haw! 18 

Well,  what  could  I  do,  neighbour  JOE  ? 

To  tarry  I  had  no  desire; 
So  I  went  home  my  clothes  to  dry, 

To  dry  them  at  the  fire. 


65 


Well,  home  I  went  to  dry  my  clothes, 
Which  didn't  make  them  any  better; 

For  as  my  coat  became  more  dry, 
My  shirt,  alas !  grew  wetter.  20 

Now  wasn't  it  a  wicked  thing, 

Only  because  I  thought  her  Moll, 

To  throw  the  water  in  my  face  ? 
I  don't  like  it  at  all. 

Yet,  may -be,  I'd  not  thought  it  her, 
But  for  that  pitcher  made  of  tin, 

Like  those  upon  the  shelf  at  home, 
So  round,  and  white,  and  thin. 

As  I  may  be  accused  of  borrowing,  I 
think  it  better  to  be  beforehand  with  the 
criticks,  and  acknowledge  having  taken 


66 


some  hints  from  the  following  passages, 
which  are  to  be  found  in  the  writings  of 
the  celebrated  Mr.  W.  WORDSWORTH. 

1  A  simple  child,  dear  brother  Jim. 

Vol.  1,  p.  110. 

2 1  believe  no  caviller  will  object  to  the 
repetition  of  last  night,  for  this  not  only 
makes  the  circumstance  narrated  more 
certain,  but  is  the  true  ballad  style,  witness 
the  following: 

My  little  boy,  which  like  you  more, 
I  said,  and  took  him  by  the  arm,  &c. 

And  tell  me,  had  you  rather  be, 

I  said,  and  held  him  by  the  arm,  &c. 

In  careless  mood  he  looked  at  me, 
While  still  I  held  him  by  the  arm,  &c. 

Ib.  p.  107. 


67 


And  afterwards, 

And  five  times  did  I  say  to  him, 
Why?  Edward,  tell  me  why? 

Id.  p.  108. 

3  In  that  sweet  mood,  when  pleasant  thoughts 
Bring  sad  thoughts  to  the  mind. 

Vol.  1,  p.  115. 

4  And  fiercely  by  the  arm  he  shook  her, 
And  by  the  arm  he  held  her  fast, 
And  fiercely  by  the  arm  he  shook  her, 
And  cried,  "I've  caught  you  then  at  last!" 

Ib.  p.  9L 

5  I've  measur'd  it  from  side  to  side : 
'Tis  three  feet  long,  and  two  feet  wide. 

6  There  is  a  thorn,  it  looks  so  old, 
In  truth  you'd  find  it  hard  to  say 
How  it  could  ever  have  been  young, 
It  looks  so  old  and  gray. 

Vol.  1,  p.  117. 


68 


7  The  horse  mov'd  on,  hoof  after  hoof. 

Vol.  2,  p.  51. 

8  But  then  he  is  a  horse  that  thinks, 
And  when  he  thinks,  his  pace  is  slack. 

Vol.  1,  p.  157. 

9  As  like  as  like  can  be. 

Ib.  p.  120. 

10    Once  again  I  see 

Those  hedge-rows,  hardly  hedge-rows. 

Vol.  1,  p.  202. 

11  And  foaming  like  a  mountain  cataract. 

Vol.  2,  p.  3. 

But  what  makes  this  the  more  wonderful 
is,  it  was  a  horse  that  foamed  so  exces 
sively. 

12  The  owlets  hoot,  the  owlets  cur, 

And  Johnny's  lips  they  burr,  burr,  burr. 


69 


And  again, 

Burr,  burr,  how  Johnny's  lips  they  burr! 

Vol.  1,  p.  156. 

13  And  friendish  faces,  one,  two,  three. 

Ib.  p.  142. 

This  may  be  termed  the  mimerick  style. 

There  appear  to  have  been  specimens 
of  this  kind  of  poetry  in  SHAKSPEARE'S 
day,  to  which  he  alludes  in  Love's  Labour 
Lost. 

Moth.    Then  I  am  sure  you  know  how  much  the  gross 
sum  of  deuce  ace  amounts  to. 

Armado.    It  doth  amount  to  one  more  than  two : 
Moth.    Which  the  base  vulgar  call  three. 

i 

And  BUTLER: 

His  sconce 

The  leg  encounter'd  twice  and  once. 


70 


14  I  gazed,  and  gazed,  and  to  myself  I  said. 

WORDSW.  Vol.  2,  p.  181, 

15 'Tis  Johnny!  Johnny!  as  I  live! 

16.  p.  173. 

16  I  guess 

The  panther  in  the  wilderness 
Was  not  so  fair  as  he. 

We  love  you  well 

Joanna!  as  I  guess. 


17  That  evermore  his  teeth  they  chatter, 
Chatter,  chatter,  chatter  still. 

Vol.  1,  p.  85. 


18 1  presume  no  person  will  object  to  my 
echo.  Here  are  five  men,  and  three  wo 
men,  all  laughing  in  chorus;  and  yet  they 

do  not,  altogether,  make  as  much  noise  as 
has  been  made  by  one  lady.     If  any  mar- 


71 


ried  man  doubts  this  assertion,  thus  I  prove 
it: 

When  I  had  gazed  perhaps  two  minutes  space, 
Joanna,  looking  in  my  eyes,  beheld 
The  ravishment  of  mine,  and  laughed  aloud. 
The  rock,  like  something  starting  from  a  sleep, 
Took  up  the  lady's  voice,  and  laughed  again: 
The  ancient  woman,  seated  on  Helm- crag, 
Was  ready  with  her  cavern;  Hammar-scar, 
And  the  tall  steep  of  silver  How  sent  forth 
A  noise  of  laughter ;  southern  Loughrigg  heard, 
And  Fairfield  answered  with  a  mountain  tone : 
Helvellyn  far  into  the  clear  blue  sky 
Carried  the  lady's  voice — Old  Skiddaw  blew 
His  speaking  trumpet; — back  out  of  the  clouds 
Of  Glamarara  southward  came  the  voice ; 
And  Kirkstone  tossed  it  from  his  misty  head. 

Vol.  2,  -p.  185. 

Compare  old  HOMER'S  description  of  the 
voice  of  Stentor  with  this  if  you  can. 

19  And  as  her  mind  grew  worse  and  worse, 

Her  body  it  grew  better. 

VoL  1,  p.  175. 


72 


I  hope  the  rrimium  ne  crede  colori  of 
my  moral,  in  the  last  stanza,  (which,  I  ven 
ture  to  assert,  is  perfectly  Wordsworthian,) 
will  not  be  overlooked.  Some  pseudo  cri- 
ticks  take  the  liberty  of  blaming  my  lyri 
cal  precursor,  for  not  closing  all  his  bal 
lads  with  sententious  and  pithy  morality, 
adapted  to  the  capacity  of  his  readers ;  in 
stead  of  which,  they  observe,  that  this  has 
either  not  been  attempted,  or  in  so  very 
abstruse  a  manner,  as  to  be  entirely  be 
yond  their  comprehension.  I  have  not  the 
vanity  to  exclaim,  "I  also  am  a  Painter," 
but  I  console  myself  with  the  possibility 
of  being  as  good  as  he  of  Ubeda,  men 
tioned  in  Don  Quixote,  who  used  to  write 
under  his  pictures — "this  is  a  cock/'  to  pre 
vent  its  being  mistaken  for  a  fox;  or  at 


73 


least  equal  to  those  who,  as  a  great  wit 
hath  said,  "though  they  cannot  hit  an  eye 
or  a  nose,  yet  are  very  good  at  imitating  a 
small-pox,  a  toad,  or  a  dead  herring/' 


74 


ODE  TO  MARKET- STREET  GUTTER 


A  SPECIMEN  OF  LOCAL  DESCRIPTION. 

0  SWEETEST  Gutter!  though  a  clown, 

1  love  to  see  thee  running  down ; 
Or  mark  thee  stop  awhile,  then  free 
From  ice,  jog  on  again,  like  me: 
Or  like  the  lasses  whom  I  meet; 
Who,  sauntering,  stray  along  the  street, 
As  if  they  had  nowhere  to  go ! 

At  times,  so  rapid  is  thy  flow, 
That  did  the  cits  not  wish  in  vain, 
Thou  wouldst  be  in  the  pumps  again. 
But,  like  a  pig,  whose  fates  deny 
To  find  again  his  wonted  sty, 


75 


You  turn,  and  stop,  and  run,  and  turn, 
Yet  ne'er  shall  find  your  "native  urn." 
How  oft  has  rolled  down  thy  stream 
Things  which  in  song  not  well  would  seem, 
Ere  scavengers  their  scrapers  plied 
To  drag  manure  from  out  thy  tide, 
Or  hydrants  bade  thy  scanty  rill 
Desert  its  banks  and  cellars  fill. 

Last  thursday  morn,  so  very  cold, 
A  morn  not  better  felt  than  told, 
Then  first,  in  all  its  bright  array, 
Did  I  thy  "frozen  form"  survey; 
And,  goodness!  what  a  great  big  steeple! 
What  sights  of  houses !   and  such  people !  I 
And  then  I  thought,  did  I  not  stutter, 
But  verse  could,  like  some  poets,  utter, 
How  much  Fd  praise  thee,  sweetest  Gutter ! 


76 


TO 


SHALL  Orpheus  be  forever  praised-, 
Because  his  lyre  a  spectre  raised, 
And  you  neglected  here  remain, 
Whose  flute  could  drive  it  back  again  ? 
Though  Pluto  wept — so  great  his  skill! 
And  snakes  round  Furies'  heads  grew  still; 
His  spell  you'd  break,  make  Pluto  roar, 
And  snakes,  entwining,  hiss  encore! 


77 


Quantum 
Oscula  sunt  labris  nostra  morata  tuis ! 

says  the  love-begone  PROPERTIUS;  and  all 
the  modern  amatory  poets  delight  to  lin 
ger  on  a  kiss. 

Juvat  me  mora  longa  basiorum, 

cries  SANNAZARIUS; 

Et  modo  sint  longa  basia  ducta  mora, 

responds  ETRUSCUS.  PONT  ANUS  complains 
to  a  cruel  girl,  that  he  had  scarcely  sipped 
of  her  lips ;  and  we  are  not  surprised  at  his 
wishing  to  drink  a  little  deeper,  since  he 
describes  them  as  sued  plena,  te;iella9  molli- 


78 


cellctj  &c.  In  some  lines  attributed  to  COR. 
GALLUS,  he  asks  for  "billing  kisses/5 

Da,  columbatim,  mitia  basia. 

And  SECUNDUS,  who  sighs  for  an  everlast 
ing  one  (perenne  basiuni),  requests  that  it 
may  be  gratis  non  sine  morsibus.  This  is 
truly  "plucking  up  kisses  by  the  roots;55 
and  we  may  reasonably  presume,  that  this 
gentleman  felt  before  BOILEAU,  the  propri 
ety  of  the  remark, 

C'est  peu  d'etre  poete,  il  faut  etre  amoureux. 

There  is  surely  much  affectation  and 
absurdity  in  expressing  in  a  language  fo 
reign  to  himself,  and  one  which  the  mistress 
to  whom  his  poems  were  addressed  could 
not  understand,  those  sentiments  which 
should  be  the  spontaneous  effusions  of  the 


79 


heart.  The  shortness  of  the  Basium,  of 
which  the  following  is  a  translation,  is  not 
its  least  merit. 

FROM  JOANNES  SECUNDUS. 

Da  mihi  suaviolum  (dicebam),  blanda  puella! 

GIVE  me,  dear  girl,  one  rapturous  kiss! 

I  cried,  and  yielding  to  the  bliss 

Your  lips  met  mine — but,  ere  I  drained 

The  luscious  nectar  they  contained, 

As  one  would  from  an  adder  start, 

Those  lips  from  mine  were  forced  to  part, 

O  this  is  not  the  way  to  give 

A  kiss,  my  life! — this  bids  me  live 

Enflamed  with  wilder  ardours — this 

Is  but  a  prelude  to  a  kiss. 


80 


SONNET. 


REVENGE,  infuriate  Demon!  at  thy  shrine, 
By  ruthless  passions  led,  I  bend  my  knee; 

I  woo  thee,  monster !  meekness  I  resign, 
And  place  each  hope  of  happiness  on  thee. 

What!  shall  the  savage  authours  of  my  pain, 
To  whom  my  pangs  gave  undisguised  delight, 
Shall  they  exult  still,  with  malignant  spite  ? 

No!  though  my  life  shouldflowfromev'ry  vein! 

Enshroud  my  soul  in  thine  own  stygian  gloom! 
Teach  me  to  cry,  "Evil,  be  thou  my  good!" 


81 


E'en  though  it  pierce  the  heart  of  him  for  whom 
My  own  would  once  have  pour'd  its  richest 

blood. 

For  THEE  all  consequences  I  defy; 
O  give  me  but  "to  triumph — and  to  die!55 


82 


CATULLI  CARMEN  AD  LESBIAM, 


IMITATED. 


Quaeris,  quot  mihi  basiationes 

Tuae,  Lesbia,  sint  satis,  superque?  &c. 


41  There's  beggary  in  the  love  that  can  be  reckoned." 

WOULD  you,  my  sweetest  charmer,  know 
How  many  kisses  to  bestow, 
Ere  I  shall  cry,  no  more,  no  more! 
Stop,  stop !   enough !  nay,  pray,  give  o'er  ? 
Count  all  the  strolling  belles  you  meet 
On  Sunday  night,  in  Market-street, 
Count  every  grain  of  dust  which  flies, 
Enough  to  put  out  all  the  eyes 


83 


Of  all  the  booted  beaux,  who  throng 
On  horseback  and  in  gigs,  along 
In  August  heats,  through  all  the  ways, 
Which  lead  from  Centre-square  to  Gray's. 
Count  all  the  lamps,  whose  twinkling  light 
Has  witnessed  many  a  stolen  delight, 
From  Irishtown  to  Kensington, 
When  Night  her  sooty  garb  had  on. 
Count,  count  all  these,  and  then,  my  fair, 
But  not  till  then,  you  may  declare 
How  many  kisses  you  discover, 
Will  satisfy  your  scorching  lover. 


84 


TO  MRS. 


I  CANNOT  say,  that,  at  your  birth, 
Celestial  powers  contended 

To  give  a  paragon  to  earth, 
And  all  perfections  blended. 

I  cannot  say,  like  love-sick  swain, 
Berhyming  on  his  Phillis, 

That  Flora  gave  you  all  her  train 
Of  roses,  and  of  lilies. 

I  cannot  say,  with  many  a  wound, 
Your  eyes,  like  darts,  molest  us; 

Nor  that  you  Venus  sleeping  found, 
And  stole  away  her  cestus. 


85 


Nor  can  I  say,  though  told  we  ought 

By  prudence  to  be  guided, 
That  always  o'er  each  act  and  thought 

Stern  Pallas  has  presided. 

But  I  can  say,  that  you  may  claim 

A  merit  most  uncommon! 
A  heart,  which  feels  the  purest  flame 

Of  friendship — though  a  woman. 


86 


ANACREONTIQUE, 


FROM  THE  FRENCH. 


Bacche,  veni,  dulcisque  tuis  e  cornibus  uva 
Pendeat. 

TIBULLUS. 


HERE,  from  toil  and  trouble  free, 

Where  no  cares  attack  us, 
We  our  song  attune  to  thee, 

Bacchus,  jolly  Bacchus! 
Thou  canst  every  bliss  bestow, 

Banish  every  sorrow, 
And  chase  far  the  thought  of  wo 

Dwelling  on  tomorrow. 


87 


And  by  thee,  whose  bounty  kind 
Gives  the  magick  cluster, 

Beauty,  when  inspired,  we  find 
Glow  with  mellowed  lustre : 

See  the  lightning  of  her  eyes, 
Bosom  gently  heaving; 

Hear  those  soft,   those  witching  sighs- 
Say,  are  they  deceiving? 

Well  may  we,  thy  votaries,  love 

Thy  ecstatick  treasure, 
Which  can  every  care  remove. 

Heighten  every  pleasure: 
And  upon  our  bended  knee, 

As  becomes  our  duty, 
We  our  offering  pour  to  thee, 

Bacchus ! — and  to  Beauty. 


88 


EPIGRAM, 


FROM  BOILEAU. 


Her  love  is  not  the  hare  that  I  do  hunt. 

As  Tou  Like  It. 


Ah!  Mary,  I  have  lost  my  heart; 

That  I'm  in  love,  alas !  is  true — 
Nay,  frown  not,  nor  with  anger  start; 

Mary, — Fm  not  in  love  with  you! 


89 


I  WAS  so  much  pleased  with  the  prose  ver 
sions  from  the  Arabick  poets,  that  I  attempted 
to  turn  some  parts  of  them  into  rhyme;  al 
though  I  fear  with  little  effect,  if  compared 
with  the  text.  Of  the  Arabick  I  do  not  un 
derstand  a  single  character ;  but  my  ignorance 
of  that  language  will  not  be  regretted  by  any 
one  who  has  read  the  modulated  prose,  into 
which  it  has  been  translated,  by  Sir  W.  JONES, 
than  which  the  original  itself  cannot  possess 
greater  charms,  though  its  diction  is  said  to 
be  "easy  and  simple,  yet  elegant;  the  numbers 


90 


flowing  and  musical,  and  the  sentiments  won 
derfully  natural/5 


FROM  LEBEID. 


How  desolate  are  the  abodes  of  the  fair! 

Their  stations  no  more  in  Minia  are  seen  I 
The  wild  hills  of  Goul  fill  my  soul  with  despair, 

And  the  fountains,  where  often  Newara  has 
been! 


Dear  ruins !  ah,  many  a  year  has  passed  by5 
Since  here,  with  the  fair  one  accustomed  to 

rove, 

The  glance  of  affection  I  caught  from  her  eye, 
And  Lebeid  exchanged  the  sweet  vows  with 
his  love ! 


^_x  < 


-    //v 


•  /tff.l 

, 7    X  /          7 

Y///      ///<'      //f('t      {>//('      ff  ('('(/?> /{'///('(I      (<'     '(<>('(', 

c'ff /(>;<>    -  '  <'/////////  /}'(>///  //<'/'  f//c 

,    -7    /  7   x 

,/,vr/    ^vw/    „;////.,   /,',;•   ' 


91 


The  clouds  of  the  spring  have  enshrouded  the 

sky, 
The  hills  of  Minia  are  drenched  with  the 

shower, 

The  wild  grass  around  waves  luxuriantly  high, 
Where  once  dwelt  Newara,  of  beauty  the 
flower. 

I  standby  the  ruins,  where  waves  the  wild  grass, 
I  ask — and  the  tears  for  loved  Newara  flow, 

Where,  where  is  the  faithless  one  gone  ? — but, 

alas! 
The  echo  alone  will  reply  to  my  wo. 

O  hard  was  the  blow,  and  envenomed  the 

wound, 

Which  Perfidy's  dagger  fixed  deep  in  my 
heart, 


92 


When,  spite  of  my  anguish,  with  soul-piercing 

sound, 
The  tent  of  Newara  was  struck  to  depart. 

But,  Lebeid!  why  dost  thou  for  Newara  grieve? 

Far  distant  she  dwells — she  has  left  thee  to 

mourn ; 
Her  vows  of  affection  were  made  to  deceive ! 

The  bonds  of  your  union  asunder  are  torn ! 


The  learned  professour,  CARLYLE,has,  with 
his  usual  elegance,  translated,  into  elegiack 
verse,  sixteen  stanzas  of  the  poem  of  LEBEID. 
I  am  well  aware  of  the  fate  which  my  trifles 
would  meet,  in  a  comparison  with  the  poetry 
of  CARLYLE;  but  in  looking  over  the  prose 
translation,  given  by  Sir '  W.  JONES,  I  thought 


93 


that  more  passion  might,  without  impropri 
ety,  be  introduced  into  the  language  of  an 
ardent  lover,  on  his  return  to  the  former  abode 
of  his  fair,  but  faithless  mistress,  and  finding 
the  scenes  of  his  youthful  passion  dreary  and 
uninhabited. 

In  consequence  of  the  wandering  life  of  the 
Arabians,  it  frequently  happened,  that  lovers, 
of  different  tribes,  were  separated,  by  the  re 
moval  of  one  or  other  party,  in  search  of  situ 
ations  abounding  in  water  or  pasturage ;  and 
this,  probably,  was  the  case  of  LEBEID  and 
NEWARA.  Several  of  the  Arabick  poems, 
said  to  have  been  hung  up  in  the  temple  of 
Mecca,  in  their  commencement,  breathe  a 
strain  of  lamentation  similar  to  LEBEID'S. 


94 


"Are  these  the  only  traces  of  the  lovely 
AMMAUFIA  ?  Are  these  the  silent  ruins  of  her 
mansions  in  the  rough  plains  of  Derraage 
and  Mothatallem  ?" 

Poem  of  Zohair. 

"Stay — let  us  weep  at  the  remembrance  of 
our  beloved,  at  the  sight  of  the  station  where 
her  tent  was  raised,  by  the  edge  of  yon  bend 
ing  sands  between  Dahul  and  Haumel,  Tud- 
ham  and  Mikra;  a  station,  the  marks  of  which 
are  not  wholly  effaced,  though  the  south  wind 
and  the  north  have  woven  the  twisted  sands. " 

Poem  of  Amriolkais. 

"Hail,  dear  ruins,  with  whose  possessours 
T  had  old  engagements ;  more  dreary  and  more 


95 


desolate  are  you  become,  after  the  departure 
of  my  beloved/5 

Poem  of  Antara. 

"The  mansion  of  KHAULA  is  desolate,  and 
the  traces  of  it  on  the  stony  hills  of  Tahmed 
faintly  shine,  like  the  remains  of  blue  figures 
painted  on  the  back  of  a  hand. 

"  While  I  spoke  thus  to  myself,  my  com 
panions  stopped  their  coursers  by  my  side, 
and  said,  Perish  not  through  despair,  but  act 
with  fortitude/' 

Poem  of  Tarafa. 


96 


FROM  AMRU. 

O  AMRU!  when  thou  seest  thy  fair, 
While  rival  eyes  are  closed  in  rest, 

No  human  language  can  declare 

The  flame  that  burns  within  thy  breast.. 

Then  fondly  round  thy  neck  she  throws 
Her  arms,  possessed  of  witching  powers ; 

Like  lambs,  the  hue  of  mountain  snows, 
That  sport  among  the  springing  flowers. 

Her  lovely  breasts,  round,  smooth,  and  white. 

Like  globes  of  polished  ivory  shine ; 
And  more,  to  give  thy  heart  delight, 

Are  sacred  from  all  eyes  but  thine. 


97 


O!  from  her  air,  her  face,  her  form, 
A  thousand  darts  thy  heart  assail! 

Her  cheeks  with  orient  rays  are  warm, 
Her  breath  is  Yemen's  spicy  gale. 

Her  hips,  the  hands  of  soft  desires 

Have  turned  with  that  enchanting  swell; 

And  formed  her  waist,  whose  beauty  fires 
Thy  soul  with  all  love's  maddening  spell, 


98 


FROM  HAFIZ. 


THE  dear  delights  of  love  and  wine 
To  quit,  a  thousand  times  I  swore; 

In  vain  would  I  those  joys  resign — 
I  swear, — but  I  can  do  no  more. 

What  are  the  bowers,  celestial  shades, 
That  lovely  Houries  dance  among, 

The  sweet  abodes  of  heavenly  maids, 
To  that  of  her  by  Hafiz  sung! 

If,  as  'tis  said,  the  joys  of  love, 
The  ardent  sigh,  the  burning  kiss, 

Angelick  natures  cannot  prove, 

I  can't  conceive  what  forms  their  bliss 


99 


Whene'er  Fd  raise  my  heart  to  prayer, 
The  maid,  who  ev'ry  wish  inspires, 

I  feel  enthroned,  the  idol  there, 
My  breast,  the  altar  for  her  fires. 


"  I  would  not,"  said  a  Trobadour,  "be  in  Paradise,  but 
on  condition  of  making  love  to  her  whom  I  adore." 

We  can  readily  excuse  this  extrava 
gance  in  a  poetick  lover,  whose  Helen  was 
a  "goddess!  nymph!  perfect!  divine !"  but 
what  shall  we  say  to  "grave  and  reverend 
signiors"  writing  in  this  style  to  each  other : 

"  I  am  so  assured  of  your  salvation,  that  I  ask  no  other 
place  in  Heaven  than  that  I  may  have  at  your  feet.  I  doubt 
even  if  Paradise  would  be  a  Paradise  to  me,  unless  it  were 
shared  with  you." 

Letter  from  the  Rev.  J.  Fletcher  to  the  Rev.  Ch.  Wesley. 


100 


IN  the  lines,  of  which  the  following  are 
an  imitation,  we  find  the  Oriental  devotees 
of  Bacchus  singing  the  praises  of  Morning. 
The  blushes  of  Aurora  are  seldom  seen  by 
those  who  bend  at  the  shrine  of  "the  jolly 
god,"  unless  they  have  been  up  all  night. 
It  was  to  one  of  this  description  that  MAR 
TIAL  alluded,  in  the  following  epigram: 

Hesterno  foetore  mero  qui  credit  Acerram 
Fallitur;  in  lucem  semper  Acerra  bibit. 

FROM  HAFIZ. 

THE  Morn,  in  fragrant  roses  veiled, 
Advances  from  her  eastern  bowers; 

And  dewdrops,  by  her  breath  exhaled, 
Like  pearls,  are  scattered  o'er  the  flowers 


101 


Haste,  loved  companions!  while  around 
Of  Eden's  plains  the  gale  divine 

Breathes  from  the  garden's  shadowy  bound, 
And  quaff,  with  me,  the  sparkling  wine. 

What!  at  the  banquet  still  abide, 
Unconscious  of  the  rising  day ! 

Be  quick!  the  gates  throw  open  wide, 
And  taste  the  sweets  that  round  us  play. 

O  youth!  to  thy  beloved  fair, 
Now  bid  profuse  libations  flow; 

And,  Derveish,  let  thy  matin  prayer, 
Inspired  by  wine,  more  fervid  glow. 

From  cheeks  of  an  enchanting  maid 

Drink  the  intoxicating  kiss; 
And,  ere  it  can  thy  grasp  evade, 

Like  Hafiz  seize  the  fleeting  bliss. 


102 


FROM  AMRU 


AWAKE,  sweet  maid!  the  dawn  appears, 
The  shadows  yield  to  its  control; 

And  let  Enderin's  wine,  for  years 
Close  hoarded,  fill  the  ample  bowl. 

'Tis  this  can  cure  the  anxious  youth 
Of  all  his  wild,  fantastick  fears ; 

The  pains  of  slighted  love  can  sooth, 
And  chase  away  fond  passion's  tears. 

This  makes  the  mean,  penurious  wretch, 
Whose  thought  is  centered  all  in  self, 

The  helping  hand  to  misery  stretch, 
Regardless  of  his  sordid  pelf. 


103 


At  present,  Fate  is  in  our  power; 

And  shall  we,  sighing,  waste  our  breath, 
Forgetful  that  the  fleeting  hour, 

Though  spent  in  anguish,  leads  to  death  ? 


104 


FROM  LEBEID. 


IN  song,  and  dance,  and  revelry, 

The  blissful  moments  pass ; 
And  conversation,  gay  and  free, 

Enlivened  by  the  glass. 

How  oft  I  quaff  the  generous  wine, 
When  morn's  first  tints  appear; 

And  press  the  maid  to  bliss  divine, 
Whose  lute  'tis  heaven  to  hear! 

Long  ere  cock-crow,  or  night's  withdrawn, 

My  early  draught  I  take; 
Long  ere  the  sleepers  of  the  dawn 

Their  lethargy  forsake. 


105 

And  oft,  when  Winter  howls  around, 
From  northern  regions  sent, 

The  wildered  traveller  is  found 
Within  my  friendly  tent. 

The  guest  and  stranger  there  regale, 
And,  pleased  with  mirthful  hours, 

Declare  'tis  like  Tibaala's  vale, 
When  dressed  in  vernal  flowers. 


106 


FROM  HAFIZ. 

"HASTE,  bring  thy  couch  where  roses  grow, 

The  blushing  damsels  press  to  love; 

Give,  with  rich  wine,  thy  cheeks  to  glow, 

And  taste  the  fragrance  of  the  grove. 

"Strew  flowers  around,  and  call  for  wine; 

What  more  canst  thou  from  Fate  demand?" 
Thus  spoke  the  nightingale  divine: 

What  say'st  thou,  rose,  to  his  command? 

O  lovely  plant!  in  beauty's  bloom, 
Tell  me,  on  whose  enamoured  sight 

Thy  flowers  shall  burst?  Ah!  say  on  whom 
Thy  smiling  buds  shall  breathe  delight? 


107 


On  her  thou  lov'st, — the  rose  had  said; 

But  Zephyr,  ere  the  pause  it  broke, 
Grew  jealous  of  my  lovely  maid, 

And  stole  its  breath  before  it  spoke. 


108 


FROM  AMRIOLKAIS. 

O  FATIMA!  why,  why  so  coy? 

Dear !  of  thy  harsh  resolve  repent, 
Which  told  me  ne'er  to  hope  for  joy: 

Relent!  O,  beauteous  maid,  relent! 

If  manners,  unrefined  by  art, 

My  Fatima  cannot  approve, 
Then,  cruel,  rend  this  faithful  heart, 

Which,  while  it  beats,  must  ever  love. 

And  dost  thou  hate,  because  my  breast 
Thy  heavenly  charms  alone  could  warm  ? 

Because  each  wish,  by  thee  expressed, 
My  soul  is  anxious  to  perform? 


109 

i 

Thou  weepest,  love! — yet  only  flow 
Those  tears  to  give  my  heart  a  pain; 

My  heart,  already  pierced  with  wo, 
Already  broken  by  disdain. 


110 


FROM  HAFIZ. 

THE  rose  can  never  boast  its  sweet, 
Without  the  cheek  of  her  I  love ; 

Nor,  without  wine,  the  cool  retreat, 
Where  gush  the  fountains  in  the  grove 

Nor  walk  within  the  fragrant  bower, 
Nor  in  the  garden  gives  delight, 

If,  in  the  calm  and  pensive  hour, 
We  miss  the  minstrel  of  the  night: 

Nor  does  the  presence  of  a  maid, 

Whose  lips  each  balmy  sweet  possess, 

In  whom  is  either  rose  displayed, 
Delight,  without  the  sweet  caress. 


Ill 


Sweet  is  the  place  where  roses  grow, 
And  sweet  is  wine  within  the  grove ; 

But  yet,  less  sweet  the  roses'  glow, 
And  wine,  without  the  maid  I  love. 

Not  all  the  pictures  art  can  form, 
Not  all  that  fancy  can  devise, 

So  much  this  amorous  bosom  warm, 
As  rosy  cheeks,  and  radiant  eyes. 


112 


FROM  HAFIZ. 

FROM  Diarbec,  a  gentle  maid, 

The  charming  Ira,  while,  a  rover, 

On  Tigris5  borders  Morad  strayed, 
Despatched  these  stanzas  to  her  lover. 

"  O  youth,  for  whom  my  bosom  sighs ! 

For  whom  my  soul  is  filled  with  love ! 
Say,  in  thy  breast  what  thoughts  arise, 

As  through  Eneni's  fields  you  rove. 

"  Does  Ira's  form,  to  Fancy's  eye, 

Mix  with  the  joys  that  round  thee  beam  ? 

Or,  faintly,  does  her  image  fly, 
The  shadow  of  a  morning  dream  ? 


113 


"Ah!  dost  thou  cry,  when  on  each  spray, 
The  songsters  warble  soft  and  clear; 

To  Morad's  ear  though  sweet  your  lay, 
'Twould  sweeter  be  were  Ira  here  ? 

"When  on  our  crowded  streets  they  dwell, 
What  objects  do  thy  thoughts  embrace  ? 

The  mart?  thy  home? — O,  flatterer!  tell 
That  Ira's  image  fills  each  place. 

"As  Fancy  looks  through  coming  years, 
What  loved  companion  does  it  form 

To  add  delight,  when  joy  appears, 

Or  share  with  thee  life's  frequent  storm? 

"Does  Ira  all  thy  thoughts  engage, 
And  make,  with  constancy  and  truth, 

The  sun  of  thy  declining  age 

As  cheery  as  thy  morn  of  youth  ? 


114 


"O,  say,  beloved  of  Ira's  heart! 

For  whom  her  soul  with  fondness  glows ! 
Say,  shall  thy  love  rude  thorns  impart? 

Or  fragrant  blossoms,  like  the  rose? 

i 

"Tell  her — thy  inmost  soul  declare, 
Will  Morad  be,  with  Ira  blest, 

A  balm  to  every  earthly  care, 

Or  thorn,  the  anguish  of  her  breast  ?" 


115 


FROM  HAFIZ. 

THE  tale  of  my  enamoured  heart, 
And  whose  dear  form  my  bosom  treasures, 

I  shall  not  tell :  or,  but  impart 

To  my  loved  harp's  ecstatick  measures. 

As  this  world's  sphere,  where  Hafiz  lives, 
Is  round  and  round  forever  turning; 

So  my  fond  heart,  for  her  who  gives 
The  generous  wine,  is  ever  burning. 

From  one  like  her  I  cannot  change; 

Ah,  no!  my  flame  I  cannot  smother: 
Or  could  my  passion  stray,  'twould  range 

But  from  one  ringlet  to  another. 


116 


When  age  thy  pleasures  shall  destroy, 
Then,  Hafiz,  turn  to  sober  thinking; 

But  now,  while  gay  and  young,  enjoy 
The  flying  hours  in  social  drinking. 


117 


QUOTING  the  following  common  English 
prose  translation  of  the  Song  of  SOLOMON: 

"My  beloved  spake,  and  said  unto  me,  Rise  up,  my 
love,  my  fair  one,  and  come  away,"  &c. 

Dr.  BEATTIE  says,  in  a  letter  to  Sir  Wm. 
Forbes,  "Virgil  himself  would  not  versify 
it,  for  fear  of  hurting  its  harmony;  and  yet, 
there  is  not  the  least  appearance  of  art  in 
its  composition.  I  will  venture  to  say,  that 
the  Italian  language  itself  is  not  susceptible 
of  greater  sweetness."  After  such  a  declara 
tion,  from  so  correct  and  elegant  a  scholar, 
I  fear  my  attempt  will  have  the  appearance 
of  no  small  temerity.  As  the  learned  J.  M. 


118 


Good  has  given  an  entire  translation,  I 
thought  it  prudent  to  confine  myself  to  a 
few  of  the  simplest  stanzas. 


FROM  SOLOMON. 

WHAT  musick  was  it  to  my  ear, 
When  thus  did  my  beloved  say: 

"Awake!  arise,  my  gentle  dear! 
Arise,  my  love,  and  come  away! 

"For,  lo!  the  wintry  clouds  are  past, 
The  tempests  all  away  are  flown, 

The  chilling  winds  no  longer  last, 
The  rain  is  over,  too,  and  gone. 


119 


"All  nature  now  incites  to  love, 

The  flowers  display  their  gayest  hue, 

The  songsters  warble  in  the  grove — 
Hark,  how  the  amorous  turtles  coo! 

"Now,  while  the  budding  figs  appear, 
And  round  the  grape  rich  perfumes  play, 

Awake!  arise,  my  gentle  dear! 
Arise,  my  love,  and  come  away!55 


120 


FROM  SOLOMON. 

O,  CLASP  me  in  thy  close  embrace, 
And  press  those  balmy  lips  to  mine; 

Thy  love,  dear  youth  of  matchless  grace! 
Thy  love  is  sweeter,  far,  than  wine. 

Though  o'er  my  slender  form  the  sun 
Has  all  his  fiercest  radiance  thrown, 

What  youth  my  proffered  love  would  shun  ? 
What  maid  my  beauty  will  not  own? 

More  sweet  than  myrrh,  when  zephyrs  spread 
Its  perfumes,  as  they,  wanton,  fly; 

O  quickly  come !   and  let  thy  head 
All  night  upon  my  bosom  lie. 


121 


What  youth  shall  e'er  to  thee  compare  ? 

Whose  charms  shall  vie  with  thine,  my 

love  ? 
Thy  skin  excels  the  lily  fair, 

Thine  eyes,  the  mildness  of  the  dove. 

O,  come  then!  come,  in  all  thy  charms, 
By  thousand  softest  wishes  led; 

O,  come!  and  clasp  me  in  thy  arms, 
Where  green  and  mossy  is  our  bed! 


122 


Principium  dulce  est,  at  finis  amoris  amarus: 
Laeta  venire  Venus,  tristis  abire  solet. 

JOANNES  AUDOENUS. 


SWEETLY  the  day-dreams  on  our  senses  steal, 
When  first  are  felt  the  throbs  of  infant 

love; 

The  mind  how  vivid!  how  tumultuous  rove 
The  charmed  thoughts ! — 'tis  paradise  to  feel. 
As  Fancy  draws  the  curtain,  melting  kind, 
Her  humid  eyes  half  closed,  on  flowers  re 
clined, 
The  maid  appears;  love's  rich  and  roseate 

dye 

Glows  on  her  cheek;  the  while  a  strug 
gling  sigh, 
Voluptuous,  breathes  its  witchery  to  the  wind. 


123 


But,  ah!  how  changed,  when  from  the  sick- 

'ning  breast 

Love  speeds  his  flight,  and  leaves  it  unin 
spired! 
Where  are  those  beauties  whieh  the  senses 

fired  ? 
All  fled — their  radiance  lost.     Dark  clouds 

invest 

That  Fancy,  which,  of  late,  so  wildly  strayed, 
And  in  the  image  of  the  angel-maid 
Beheld  whatever  perfect  is,  or  rare : 
While,  for  a  smiling  Venus,  heavenly  fair, 
Now  fell  Disgust,  a  gorgon,  stands  displayed. 


Her  humid  eyes,  &c.] 

Umidi  occhi  is  a  frequent  term  of  the 
Italian  poets,  to  express  the  eyes  "that  speak 


124 


the  melting  soul;55  or,  as  ETRUSCUS  has  it, 
oculi  tremulo  fulgore  micantes.  COLLINS  says, 
with  great  beauty,  "eyes  of  dewy  light/5 
Every  lover  knows  how  fancy  delights  to  riot 
on  the  charms  of  an  absent  mistress.  The 
poet  JAYADEVA,  whose  songs,  like  those  of 
SOLOMON,  are  supposed  to  have  a  mystical 
allusion,  makes  MADHAVA  exclaim:  "I  me 
ditate  on  her  delightful  embrace,  on  the 
ravishing  glances  of  her  eye,  on  the  fragrant 
lotos  of  her  mouth,  on  her  nectar-dropping 
speech;  yet  even  my  fixed  meditation  on  such 
an  assemblage  of  charms,  increases,  instead 
of  alleviating,  the  misery  of  separation.55 

See  Sir  Wm.  Jones's  Works. 


125 


EPIGRAM. 


EDWARD,  of  late,  so  gay  and  free, 
You  sang  to  love  full  many  a  glee, 

Nor  e'er  from  pleasure  tarried; 
Now  altered  quite,  the  form  of  wo ! 
"My  dearest  friend!   do  you  not  know 

That  I  am — I  am — married?" 


126 


The  ways  of  Heaven  are  dark  and  intricate. 

ADDISON. 


NED  loved  his  Kitty  passing  well, 

And  tried  all  likely  means  to  move  her; 

Sighed,  swore,  and  prayed — what  I  can't  tell ; 
But  as  is  usual  with  a  lover. 

"The  ways  of  Heaven  are  dark/'  'tis  said: 
Speak  ye  who  rue  the  sad  condition 

To  which  your  ill-judged  prayers  led, 
When  Heaven  granted  your  petition. 

Alas,  poor  Ned!   grown  wise  too  late, 
So  far  the  tragick-farce  he  carried, 

He  found  Heaven's  vengeance  in  his  fate; 
For  Kitty  smiled,  and  he — got  married. 


127 


EPIGRAM, 


FROM  DU  BELLAY. 


Paule,  tuum  inscribis  nugarum  nomine  librum;  &c. 

PAUL,  'twas  a  modest  name  you  took; 

You  call  it  "  Trifles" — yet,  not  quite  ill; 
For,  by  my  truth,  in  all  your  book 

There's  nothing  better  than  its  title. 


128 


FROM  CORDERIUS  LEPIDUS. 


ON  A  MARBLE  STATUE  OF  VENUS. 


Nescio  cur  Venerem  meretricem  carmina  dicant;  &.c. 

I  KNOW  not  why  some  bards  will  scold, 
And  call  thee,  Venus,  bold  and  free; 

Fm  sure  thou  art  almost  as  cold 

And  dull  as  e'en  their  rhymes  can  be. 


129 


STANZAS, 


WRITTEN  AT  NIAGARA. 


WHATEVER  Fve  been  told  of  thy  wonders 

is  true! 

All  nature  at  once  seems  to  rush  on  my  view ; 
And  lost,  in  the  trance  you  occasion,  I  cry, 
How  stupendous  the  scene!  what  an  atom 

am  I! 

How  thy  waves,  wildly  foaming,  and  hurled 

around, 
Rise  in  volumes  of  mist  from  thy  caldron 

profound! 


130 


While  in  tears,  which  thy  fury  has  caused, 

brightly  plays 
The  rainbow  that  dazzles  my  sight  with  its 

rays! 

Like  the  tyrant  of  Europe,  whose  merciless 

force 
Bears  down  ev'ry  mound  which  opposes 

his  course ; 
While  the  halo,  whose  glory  encircles  his 

head, 
Is  formed  by  the  tears  which  the  wretched 

have  shed. 

O,  who  should  not  rather  all  glory  forego, 
Than  gain  it  by  battle,  and  bloodshed,  and 
wo! 


131 


O,  who  would  not  rather  inhabit  the  vale, 
Than  dwell  on  the  Andes,  the  sport  of  each 
gale! 

Near  Etna  I've  strayed,  with  impressions 

most  sweet, 
Through  vineyards  encircling  with  verdure 

its  feet; 

But  felt  not  the  least  inclination  to  tread 
On  the  ashes  which  cover  its  cloud-piercing 

head. 

And  though  with  sensations  I  ne'er  knew 

before, 

I  bend  me,  enraptured,  to  list  to  thy  roar, 
And,  as  thy  blue  streams  irresistibly  roll, 
Feel  the  awe  most  sublime  which  possesses 

my  soul. 


132 


Yet  I  would  not,  for  worlds,  that  my  life 

were  like  thee ! 
No,  far  be  each  thought  of  such  tumult  from 

me! 
Far,  far  be  each  wish  that  ambition  might 

form 
To  dwell  in  the  horrour  and  roar  of  the 

storm ! 

Let  me,  cool  and  clear,  glide  on,  free  from 

all  taint, 

Dispensing  relief  to  the  weary  and  faint; 
No  torrent  that  bursts  to  affright  or  amaze ; 
But  the  smooth,  gentle  stream  through  the 

valley  that  strays. 


133 


M.  ANT.  FLAMINIUS,  in  his  Hymn  to 
Aurora,  thus  quaintly  expresses  the  dis 
pleasure  of  a  lover  at  the  returning  light: 

Ast  amans  charae  thalamum  puellae 
Deserit  flens,  et  tibi  verba  dicit 
Aspera,  amplexu  tenerae  cupito  a- 
vulsus  amicae. 

We  are  told,  by  one  eminently  possessed  of 
the  mens  divinior,  that  "  the  sound  should  be 
an  echo  to  the  sense:"  what  a  fine  sobbing 
there  is  in 

a- 
vulsus  amicae! 

It  is  impossible  to  read  it  without  gasping 
for  breath.  The  following  lines,  from  the 


134 


BASIA  of  that  most  incurable  of  all  the 
Latin  amatory  poets,  SECUNDUS,  are  not 
much  better: 

Quare,  cum  flagantissima  jungis 
Oscula,  de  thalamo  cogor  abire  tuo! 

PARAPHRASED. 

THE  day  appears!   awake,  awake! 

The  red  beams  in  the  east  arise; 
One  sweet  embrace,  O  quickly  take, 

Ere  from  thy  arms  thy  lover  flies ! 

And  can  I — no,  I  cannot  go! 

I  ,cannot  quit  this  heaven  of  love; 
A  heaven  which  they  alone  shall  know, 

Whose  hearts  the  fondest  passions  prove. 


135 


Yet  I  must  go,  or  hear  thy  name 

Profaned  by  every  venomed  tongue; 

Hear  those  who  would  thy  charms  defame, 
All,  all  combined  to  do  thee  wrong. 

Adieu! — one  kiss — surely  no  heart 
Was  ever  half  so  fond,  so  true ! 

Another  kiss  before  we  part, — 
One  other  kiss,  and  then  adieu! 


136 


FROM  JOANNES  AURATUS. 


Foemina,  dulce  malum,  horis  opportuna  duabus,  &c, 


O  WOMAN!  though  some  cynick  lays 
Your  power  and  beauty  may  dispraise. 
What  husband  owns  not  the  delight 
With  which  you  crowned  the  bridal  night  ? 
What  widower  owns  not  your  charms, 
When  death  withdrew  you  from  his  arms? 
Sweet  evil!  you,  at  least,  claim  this, 
Twice  in  our  life  to  give  us  bliss. 


137 


POETS,  who  seldom  possess  riches,  gene 
rally  affect  a  sovereign  contempt  of  them. 
If  they  happen  to  be  in  love — and  Venus  is 
an  intimate  acquaintance  of  those  chaste 
sisters,  the  Muses — the  sigh  is  always  for 
the  charmer  and  a  cot.  The  language  of 
TIBULLUS  is  common  to  the  whole  tribe: 

Sit  mihi  paupertas  tecum,  jucunda  Neaera; 

1 

At  sine  te,  regum  munera  nulla  volo. 

But  it  is  not  wonderful  that  they  despise 
the  trifling  pleasures  which  wealth  can 
procure,  when  a  bard  shall  think,  that  hea 
ven  has  exhausted  all  its  stores  to  form  the 
countless  charms,  which  he  beholds  in  the 
object  of  his  adoration;  and,  addressing 


138 


"his  soul's  regent/5  cries,  in  a  rhapsody 
of  passion, 

"  There's  in  you  all  that  we  believe  of  heaven, 
Amazing  brightness,  purity  and  truth, 
Eternal  joy,  and  everlasting  love." 

If  all  this  were  true,  he  might  add, 

Qui  basiat  semi-deus  est, 
Qui  te  potitur,  est  deus ! 

But  I,  who  cannot  pretend  to  any  poetick  in 
spiration,  and  think  "  no  rat  is  rhymed  to 
death,  nor  maid  to  love/5  am  disposed  to 
believe,  that  they  sometimes  speed  best,  who 

"  Pierce  the  soft  lab'rinth  of  a  lady's  ear, 

"  With  rhymes  of  this  per  cent,  and  that  per  year  ;" 

although  the  declaration  of  their  passion 
be  as  abrupt  and  unpoetick  as  that  of 


139 


APOLLO  himself  to  his  mistress  Leucothoe: 
Mihi  crede,  places.  Nevertheless,  in  accor 
dance  with  the  general  sentiment,  so  favou 
rable  to  the  poetasters  of  the  day,  I  have 
written  the  following  Song,  which  may, 
with  great  propriety,  be  inserted  in  almost 
any  modern  English  Opera. 


SUCH  passion  in  my  bosom  grew, 
When  first  sweet  Celia  met  my  view, 
That,  by  its  tenderness  oppressed, 
In  vain  I  sought  my  wonted  rest: 

But  now,  no  sighs 

From  fear  arise, 
No  more  those  pains  I  prove ; 

O,  blissful  state, 

With  such  a  mate ! 
For  Celia  owns  her  love. 


140 

'Tis  true,  no  wealthy  stores  are  mine; 
To  others  I  those  joys  resign: 
With  Celia  fair  to  grace  my  cot, 
Content  shall  ever  be  my  lot. 

At  morning  gay, 

At  setting  day, 
We'll  still  new  raptures  prove; 

And  heaven  shall  see 

None  blest  as  we, 
While  Celia  owns  her  love. 


IT  must  be  acknowledged,  that  these 
snivelling  Arcadians  are  more  innocent  in 
their  conceptions,  than  the  amatory  poetick 
gentlemen,  who  publish  to  the  world  all  the 
suggestions  of  the  most  wanton  emotions. 
It  is  in  vain  we  shall  be  told,  that  although 


141 


their  poems  are  licentious,  yet  their  lives 
were  chaste.  I  think  with  MURETUS: 

Quisquis  versibus  exprimit  Catullum, 
Raro  moribus  exprimit  Catonem. 

But  it  is  not  to  be  expected,  in  this  weak 
state  of  mortality,  that  the  best  of  us  shall 
be  immaculate;  and  SHAKSPEARE  makes 
an  excellent  apology  for  their  frailties: 

Where  is  that  palace,  whereinto  foul  things 
Sometimes  intrude  not?  Who  has  a  breast  so  pure, 
But  some  uncleanly  apprehensions 
Keep  leets,  and  law-days,  and  in  session  sit 
With  meditations  lawful? 

Their  crime  is  not  so  much  in  having  ex 
perienced  those  sensations,  as  in  writing 
and  publishing  them. 


142 


FROM  THE  ITALIAN. 


'TWAS  morn:  no  prying  eyes  were  near; 

Yet  the  rich  rose  upon  her  cheek 
Was  stained  with  many  a  gushing  tear, 

And  to  my  conscious  heart  did  speak 
A  tale  of  mingled  love  and  fear. 

The  dewdrops  of  the  matin  hour 
Disperse  before  the  rising  day; 

And  to  her  tears,  a  pearly  shower, 
Love  was  the  sun,  whose  potent  ray 

Exhaled  their  moisture  from  the  flower. 


143 


IN  looking  over  a  collection  of  English 
poetry  of  the  last  year,  published  in  Lon 
don,  I  observed,  with  some  surprise,  a 
number  of  sheep  carelessly  feeding,  shep 
herdesses  reclining  in  the  shade,  and  shep 
herds  "  teaching  their  pipes5'  the  names  of 
their  mistresses;  and  all  this  in  the  most 
bewitching  dorick  simplicity  of  eight,  nine, 
and  ten  syllable  lines,  sparsim;  or,  as  we 
very  aptly  translate  it,  helter-skelter.  For 
my  part,  I  must  confess,  that  I  listen  with 
very  little  pleasure  to  those  sons  of  THEO 
CRITUS, 

"  Who  with  their  smooth  pipe,  and  soft-dittied  song, 
Well  know  to  still  the  wild  winds  when  they  roar, 
And  hush  the  waving  woods;" 

and  even  think,  that  there  is  as  much  pro- 


144 


priety  in  Lingo's  "  cooing  kids,  capering 
doves,  verdant  skies,  and  azure  plains,"  as 
in  the  following  passages  of  VIRGIL: 

Si  formosus  Alexis 
Montibus  his  abeat,  videas  et  flumina  sicca. 

Phyllidis  adventu  nostrae,  nemus  omne  virebit, 
Jupiter  et  laeto  descendet  plurimus  imbri. 

Pastorum  musam  Damonis  et  Alphesiboei, 
Immemor  herbarum  quos  est  mirata  juvenca 
Certantes,  quorum  stupefactae  carmine  lynces, 
Et  mutata  suos  requierunt  flumina  cursus, 

POLITIAN  offers  an  example  of  pastoral 
sensibility,  which  may  be  imitated  by  any 
poet,  who  would  represent  a  shepherd  be 
wailing  the  loss  of  his  mistress : 

Flet  vitulam  moesta  absentem  mugitibus  altis 
Mater,  et  immensam  raucis  miseranda  querelis 
Sylvam  implet;  boat  omne  nemus,  vallesque,  lacusque. 

There  is  nothing  to  be  done,  but  to  meta- 


145 


morphose  the  calf  into  Phyllis,  and  its 
mother  into  Thyrsis,  and  we  shall  have  an 
excellent  pastoral.  Should  tears  be  wanted, 
DAN.  HEINSIUS  can  furnish  them  in  any 
quantity;  for  example: 

Flebant,  et  lacrymis  ingentibus  ora  rigabant, 
Flebant  et  populi,  flebant  armenta  gregesque. 

What  rivers  must  have  been  shed  on  this 
melancholy  occasion ! 

You  know  it  is  expected  that  nature 
shall  be  always  ready  to  sympathise  with  a 
desponding  shepherd.  Phyllis  gets  a  fit  of 
the  sullens,  and  immediately,  as  a  matter 
of  course^ 

Sylva  neget  glandes,  et  Bacchi  munera  colles, 
Torreat  arva  sitis,  scabies  pecus,  atra  magistros, 
Pestis,  &c. 


146 


Phyllis,  who,  it  is  to  be  understood,  posses 
ses  such  charms  that 

"  A  withered  hermit,  five  score  winters  worn, 
"  Might  shake  off  fifty,  looking  in  her  eye," 

is  not  supposed  to  be  of  a  very  cruel  dispo 
sition,  and  affects  it  merely  to  give  her 
swain  an  opportunity  of  calling  on  the  rocks 
and  streams  to  bear  witness  to  his  woes,  at 
last  relents ;  perhaps,  to  produce  this  effect, 
he  has  told  her  that  he  will  immediately 
fall  desperately  in  love  with  Neaera,  or 
Lydia,  or  Chloe,  or  any  other  lady  whom 
he  shall  choose  for  the  liquid  sweetness  of 
her  name;  perhaps,  he  has  threatened  to 
drown  himself,  (for,  I  believe,  hanging  and 
cutting  their  own  throats  were  not  fashion 
able  modes  of  death  among  the  Arcadians,) 


147 


or,  at  least,  given  some  distant  hints  of  such 
an  intention,  at  the  same  time  calling  names 
with  almost  as  much  volubility  as  the  widow 
of  SICHAEUS  bestowed  them  upon  the  pious 
prince  : 

Si  tibi  dulce  mei  nihil  est,  6  ferrea,  vere 
Ferrea,  dulce  tamen  mea  mors  erit. 

GROTIUS. 

Whatever  be  the  reason  of  the  change, 
she  ought,  by  all  means,  to  be  kind  at  the 
conclusion,  (for  I  hate  all  tragick  conclu 
sions)  and  immediately  every  thing  wheels 
round  with  her: 


Glande  nemus,  foetu  pecus,  (a  good  thing  that  for  the 

shepherd)  uva  vitis  abundet, 
Pluraque  perspicuis  manet  de  fontibus  unda, 
Pabula  dent  campi,  sylvae  pastoribus  umbras 
Sub  quibus  arguta  carmen  modulentur  avena. 

BUCHANAN. 


148 


Not  only  the  fields,  but  the  floods  are  favou 
rable  to  the  tender  passion,  if  we  credit  SAN- 
NAZARIUS,  whose  lovers,  in  his  piscatory 
eclogues,  are  made  to  speak  very  much  in 
character: 

Chromis.  Dat  Rhombos  Sinuessa;  Dicarchi  littora  Tagros ; 

Herculeae  Mullum  rupes;  Synodontas  Amalphis; 

Parthenope  teneris  scatet  ambitiosa  puellis ; 

Quis  mihi  mine  alias  scrutari  suadeat  algas? 
Tolas.  In  fluviis  Mugil  versatur;  Sargus  in  herbis; 

Polypus  in  scopulis :  mediis  Melanurus  in  undis : 

Ante  tuas,  mea  Nisa,  fores  ego  semper  oberro. 

Quae  mihi  det  tales  jucundior  insula  portus? 

And  HUGO  GROTIUS,  in  a  Nautical  Idyll, 
addresses  his  mistress  as  if  he  were  an  oys 
ter  man: 

Saepe  etiam,  sera  quoties  sub  nocte  venirem, 
Siccasti  aequoreis  manentes  imbribus  artus: 
Nee  te  poeniteat,  prius  hoc  quoque  fecerat  Hero, 


149 


Cujus  ego  et  turrim  Sestaeo  in  littore  vidi, 
Nataque  collegi  vicinis  ostrea  saxis. 

Indeed,  there  is  no  good  reason  why  oyster- 
men  should  not  be  permitted  to  fall  in  love, 
as  well  as  shepherds.  Flocks,  and  herds, 
and  meadows,  and  flowers,  are  not  more 
interesting  than  grottos,  and  corals,  and 
sponges,  and  oysters.  Venus  herself,  as  the 
poets  tell  us,  derived  her  birth  from  the 
ocean,  and  she  is  frequently  represented 
reclining  in  the  shell  of  some  sea-fish;  and 
CATULLUS,  in  his  ode  ad  hortorum  Deum, 

mentions  that  amorous  deity  in  such  a  way, 
as  to  lead  us  to  suppose  he  had  no  parti 
cular  objection  to  their  worship. 

Nam  te  praecipue  in  suis  urbibus  colit  ora 
Hellespontia,  caeteris  ostreosior  oris. 

But  all  this  scribbling  is  merely  to  intro- 


150 

duce  my  attempt,  in  the  true  style  of  sheep 
ish  simplicity,  at 

A  PATHETICK  PASTORAL. 


All  as  the  sheep,  such  was  the  shepherd's  look, 

And  thus  he  plained. 

SPENSER. 


How  I  burn  in  the  pangs  of  despair, 
Which  Zephyrus  never  can  cool; 

For  Phyllis,  ah,  too  cruel  fair! 
False  Phyllis  declares  I'm  a  fool ! 

Yet  this  I  could  suffer  unmoved, 
If  Phyllis  but  kindly  would  look; 

If  she  softly  would  whisper  she  loved, 
Fd  lose  both  my  pipe  and  my  crook. 


151 


Ah,  me!  while  her  heart's  such  a  rock, 
For  swains  with  their  pipes,  a  whole  throng, 

And  for  goat-footed  Pans,  a  whole  flock, 
Fd  not  give,  ye  shepherds,  a  song. 2 

Yet  why  should  my  Phyllis  despise 
My  features,  and  sneer  at  my  woes  ? 

When  Bacchus  himself  has  blear  eyes; 
And  Phoebus  a  carbuncled  nose. 3 

Ah,  why  should  the  nymph  who  enslaves 
My  heart,  be  thus  deaf  to  my  moans ! 

She  heeds  not,  though  rocks,  woods,  and  caves 
I  tire,  half  to  death,  with  my  groans. 4 

Have  I  not,  as  a  shepherd  became, 
Declared  to  that  dearest  of  dears, 

That  my  bosom  is  all  in  a  flame, 

Which  I  cannot  put  out  with  my  tears !  s 


152 


Have  I  not  cried  O  dear!   and  alas! 

As  often  as  any  swain  could  do? 
And  said  that  my  sheep  left  their  grass, 

When  she  would  not  smile  as  she  should  do? 

Have  I  not  said  that  life  was  a  dream; 

Which  scarcely  could  last  till  tomorrow? 
Have  I  not  said  the  sweet  purling  stream, 

Jove,  naiads,  and  flocks  shared  my  sorrow?6 

Have  I  not  said  my  heart  by  her  eyes 
Was  mangled  and  torn  till  it  bled? 

And  although  she  might  still  hear  my  sighs, 
I  was  truly  and  honestly  dead?7 

That  wolves,  at  her  song,  grow  quite  tame  ? 

That  rivers  flow  back  to  their  sources  ? 
That  no  forest  or  rock  you  can  name 

But  rejoices  whene'er  she  discourses?8 


153 


From  our  fields  when  the  maiden  once  fled, 
Could  lilies  grow  darker  than  ours  ? 

Can  a  rose  in  her  absence  be  red? 

Or  a  perfume  exhale  from  the  flowers  ?? 

O  should  fate  take  Phyllis,  alack! 

How  the  mountains  would  weep !  day  would 

quit  her 
Abode  in  the  sky!  white  be  black! 

And  the  sweetest  of  sweets  become  bitter!10 


IMITATIONS. 

1  May  I  lose  both  my  pipe  and  my  crook, 
If  I  knew  of  a  kid  that  was  mine. 

SHENSTONE. 

2  Nee  me  pastorum  recreant  solamina,  nee  me 
Fistula 

Nee  quae  capripedes  modulantur  carmina  Panes. 

BUCHANAN. 


154 


3  Dicite  cur  nostros  Nymphae  fugatis  amores: 

Quid  Faunus,  quo  sic  despiciatur,  habet? 
Cornua  si  mihi  sunt,  sunt  et  sua  cornua  Baccho : 
Ignea  si  frons  est,  an  non  frons  ignea  Phoebo  est? 

P.  BEMBUS. 

4  Quanto  moerore  fatigat 

Omne  nemus,  longisque  implet  cava  saxa  querelis! 

PET.  FRANSCIUS. 

Deserta  querelis 

Antra  meis,  sylvasque  et  conscia  saxa  fatigo. 

BUCHANAN. 

Nunc  vox,  flebilibus  quae  semper  maesta  querelis 
Desertos  scopulos,  deviaque  antra  colis. 

A.  NAUGERIUS. 

s          Meos  restinguam  fletibus  ignes. 

FRANCIUS. 


6  Soft  as  she  mourned,  the  streams  forgot  to  flow, 
The  flocks  around  a  dumb  compassion  show, 
The  Naiads  wept  in  ev'ry  watry  bower, 
And  Jove  descended  in  a  silent  shower. 

POPE'S  Pastorals. 


155 


But  it  is  with  the  greatest  reverence  that  I 
approach  this  high  priest  of  the  Muses. 

7  Post  funera,  noster 

Vivet  amor. 

FRANCIUS. 

8  Feras  canendo  mulceant: ' 
Fluenta  vertant  in  caput, 
Et  saxa  cum  sylvis  trahant. 

9  Te  sine,  vae  misero  mihi,  lilia  nigra  videntur, 
Pallentesque  rosae,  nee  dulce  rubens  hyacinthus; 
Nullos  nee  myrtus,  nee  laurus  spiral  odores. 

M.  AURELIUS  NEMESIANUS. 

10  Alconem  postquam  rapuerunt  impia  fata, 
Collacrimant  duri  montes,  et  consitus  atra  est 
Nocte  dies,  sunt  Candida  nigra,  et  dulcia  amara. 

BALT.  CASTILIONE. 

As  the  English  shepherds  of  the  present 
day  are  but  indifferent  companions,  I  have 
preferred  sauntering  with  some  of  the  Latin 


156 


ones  among  the  groaning  rocks,  and  weep 
ing  mountains,  with  which  their  rural  scenes 
are  so  abundantly  ornamented.  In  the  fore 
going  pages,  I  have  quoted  an  example  of 
false  taste  from  POLITIAN.  It  is,  however, 
but  justice  to  declare,  that  I  think  he  has 
many  passages  that  combine  the  sweetest 
poetry  with  the  chastest  delineations  of 
nature.  In  those  lounging  moods,  when  we 
have  turned  over,  with  so  much  amusement, 
the  pages  of  modern  latinity,  POLITIAN 
was  generally  a  favourite;  but  I  would 
point  out  to  you,  in  a  particular  manner, 
the  picture  in  the  following  lines.  Their 
versification  is  so  peculiarly  melodious  to 
my  ear,  that  I  almost  fancy  I  can  hear  the 
moaning  of  the  dove,  for  the  loss  of  its 
mate,  the  babbling  of  the  rill  among  the 


157 


pebbles,  and  the  sighing  sound  of  the 
zephyr,  as  it  breathes  through  leaves  of 
pine  and  cypress. 

Medio  dum  Phoebus  in  axe  est, 

Dum  gemit  erepta  viduatus  compare  turtur, 
Dum  sua  torquati  recinunt  dictata  palumbes. 
Hie  resonat  blando  tibi  pinus  amata  susurro; 
Hie  vaga  coniferis  insibilat  aura  cupressis; 
Hie  scatebris  salit,  et  bullantibus  incita  venis 
Pura  coloratos  interstrepit  unda  lapillos; 
Hie  tua  vicinis  ludit  lasciva  sub  umbris, 
Jamdudum  nostri  captatrix  carminis,  Echo. 

It  is  very  surprising,  that  he,  who  could 
describe  the  sylvan  life  so  beautifully,  be 
cause  so  naturally,  as 

Dant  ignem  extrictum  silices;  dant  flumina  nectar 
Hausta  manu ;  dat  ager  cererem :  non  caseus,  aut  lac 
Lucorumve  dapes  absunt;  stat  rupibus  ilex 
Mella  ferens  trunco,  plenoque  cacumine  glandem. 
Illi  sunt  animo  rupes,  frondolaque  tesqua, 


158 

Et  specus,  et  gelidi  fontes,  et  roscida  tempe, 
Vallesque,  zephyrique,  et  carmina  densa  volucrum. 

should  be  capable  of  adding 

Et  Nymphae,  et  Fauni,  et  capripedes  Satyrisci, 
Panque  rubens,  et  fronte  cupressifera  Sylvanus, 
Silenique  senes,  &c. 


159 


THE  following  lines  were,  playfully,  in 
tended  as  a  parody  on  certain  "Reflections" 
of  our  friend  E :  but  I  believe  my  attempt 
has  been  unsuccessful;  for,  on  reading  them 
again,  I  am  perfectly  at  a  loss  to  tell  whe 
ther  they  are  of  a  grave  or  gay  aspect. 
flu**  says  my  parody  is  extremely  silly, 
and  that  you  had  better  throw  it  into  the 
fire.  Print  it,  or  not,  as  you  please.  I  have 
altered  some  passages,  and  added  to  their 
sobriety;  which  was  easily  done.  If  you 
wish  your  piece  to  be  doleful,  you  have  only 
to  write  it  on  a  rainy  day ;  or  at  midnight, 
with  a  single  taper  burning  before  you.  E, 
for  one  who  is  so  well  calculated  to  be  the 
ornament  of  society,  is  singularly  addicted 
to  sombre  "Reflections  in  Solitude."  Some 


160 


wag,  speaking  of  a  celebrated  British  artist, 
says  he  eats  raw  beef  to  procure  indiges 
tion,  that  he  may  have  horrible  dreams, 
from  which  he  catches  the  hints  for  his  ter- 
rifick  paintings.  One  would  suppose,  that 
Lewis  had  tried  this  diet  for  his  ghost  and 
hobgoblin  stories.  In  defiance  of  H's  opi 
nion,  I  really  think  that  my  parody  would 
do  very  well  for  any  desponding  swain, 
that  might  choose  in  blank  verse  to  make 

the  weeping  rill 
Join  in  his  plaint,  melodious. 


WITH  what  a  feverish  mind  do  I  behold 
This  spot,  that  witnessed  oft  as  pure  a  love 
As  ever  dwelt  within  a  mortal  breast; 
When  she,  the  dear  companion  of  my  walks, 


161 


At  whose  appearance  Nature  seemed  to 
breathe 

New  fragrance  round,  and  wear  her  sweet 
est  smiles, 

Would  point  each  beauty  to  my  raptured 
view! 

Would  bid  me  mark  how  white  the  haw 
thorn  flowers; 

What  verdure  decked  the  lawn  beneath  our 
feet; 

How  gay  the  poplars,  and,  amidst  their 
green, 

How  pensive  did  the  cedar's  hues  appear; 

With  what  a  majesty  the  setting  sun 

Cast  his  mild  radiance  on  the  winding 
stream, 

Whose  scarcely-ruffled  breast  inverted 
showed 


162 


The  various  trees  that  on  its  borders  grew, 

And  each  light  cloud  that  high  in  ether 
sailed : 

How  sweet  the  robin  trilled  his  amorous  lay; 

How  soft  the  wood-dove  cooeduntoher  mate. 

And  then,  when  she  has  caught  my  wan 
dering  eyes, 

Turned  from  the  charms  which  Nature 
spread  around, 

To  gaze  on  those  a  thousand  times  more 
dear, 

How  has  she  hid  her  face  upon  my  breast, 

And  said  she  ne'er  should  make  me  nature's 
lover ! 

Ah !  who  could  see  her,  and  not  nature  love  ? 
Oh,  she  could  bend  me  to  her  every  will, 

My  soul's  emotions  all  were  in  her  power: 

And  yet,  so  gently  did  she  bear  her  sway, 


163 


She  never  formed  a  wish  that  was  not  mine. 
I  have  known  many,  whom  the  thought 
less  world 

Would  eall  more  fair,  more  beautiful  than 
she; 

But  never  have  my  eyes  beheld  the  face 

Which  more  expressed  that  evenness  of  soul, 

That  meek,  sweet  temper,  which  is  ever 
pleased 

When  it  can  give  delight;  that  mind,  in 
formed 

By  reason's  precepts,  candid  and  sincere; 

That  breast  by  every  gentle  passion  swayed, 

The  throne  of  virtue,  innocence  and  truth; 

And  all  those  mental  charms,  by  which  the 
sex 

Can  make  this  world  a  paradise  to  man. 

I  oft  have  looked  upon  her  angel  eyes, 


164 


To  see  sweet  fancy  sporting  in  their  beams ; 
Have  looked,  until  unutterable  love 
Has  called  the  tear  of  transport  to  my  own. 
I  could  not  help  it — I  ne'er  think  on  her, 
But  what  my  eyes  are  truants  to  my  will. 
And  play  the  infant — 

Here  we  strayed. 

How  strongly  memory  paints  upon  my  heart 
That  dear,  dear  glance,  which  first  betray 
ed  her  love! 
How  widely  different  was  her  love  from 

mine! 
For  though  with  such  a  warmth  her  bosom 

glowed, 

That  she  has  often  told  me  she  could  die, 
If  that  would  but  ensure  my  happiness; 
Yet  was  it  mild  as  is  the  solar  ray, 
In  that  soft  season,  when  the  plastick  hand 


165 


Of  Nature  moulds,  for  Amalthea's  horn, 
Her  embryo  fruits,  and  scatters  wild  her 

flowers. 

Mine  was  the  ardour  of  the  mid-day  blaze. 

When  on  the  torrid  regions  Phoebus  pours 

His  fervid  beams,  and  nature  burns  around. 

Here  I  have  plueked  the  wild  flowers  for 

her  breast, 

And  thought  the  simple  bios  som  of  the  thorn, 
Placed  there,  more  lovely  than  the  garden 

rose, 

And  sweeter  than  the  violet  of  the  vale. 
Yet — why  I  know  not — I  have  sometimes 

felt 
As  if  those  flowers  should  not  be  suffered 

there ; 
They  might  from  her  loved  bosom  steal  its 

snows, 


166 


Or  rob  her  balmy  breath  of  half  its  sweets; 

And  I  have  taken  them,  unknown  to  her. 

And  torn  their  leaves,  and  strewed  them  in 
our  walks. 

And  once — such  fancies  fill  a  lover's  brain! 

Alas,  that  e'er  their  warning  should  be  true ! 

I  thought  I  heard  a  dying  flowret  say, 

"Beware,  rash  youth!  those  gusts  of  pas 
sion  rule; 

Torn  from  her  breast,  my  fate  may  yet  be 
thine!" 

H.  asks,  how  "those  flowers  could  steal 
the  snows  from  her  loved  bosom,  or  rob  her 
balmy  breath  of  half  its  sweets  ?"  I  quoted 
"The  forward  violet,"  &c.  of  SHAKSPEARE  : 
not  that  I  thought  either  rhyme  or  reason 
necessary. 


167 


RONDEAU. 


ALAS!  my  friend,  said  Bob  to  Joe, 
While  gloom  sat  heavy  on  his  brow, 

You  bid  me  mock  the  fiend  of  wo, 
And  look  as  gay  as  you  do  now: 

But  when  the  demon  rules  the  hour, 
What  can  the  sinking  heart  defend? 

What  bid  defiance  to  his  power? — 
^Said  Joe  to  Bob — a  LASS,  my  friend. 


168 


THE  tortures  and  groans  of  Italian  lovers 
are  never  expressed  in  our  rude  and  inhar 
monious  manner.  Particular  care  is  taken 
to  make  a  dying  swain  utter  his  woes  in 

"  many  a  winding  bout 
Of  linked  sweetness,  long  drawn  out." 

The  original  of  the  following  lines,  I  met 
with  in  a  canzonetta,  composed,  con  affetto, 
byPAEsiELLO.  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of 
altering  the  measure,  in  order  to  give  it  a 
wildness  and  irregularity,  which,  I  dare 
say,  would  have  wounded  the  author's  ear 
in  no  small  degree. 

SPEAK  not  of  her — 
O  speak  not  of  her  virtues,  whose  control 


169 


I  felt  that  time,  when,  by  a  stern  com 
mand, 
While  all  the  storm  of  passion  racked  my 

soul, 

I  saw  her  forced  to  quit  her  native  land! 
Torn  from  my  arms — still,  still  that  scene 

I  view! — 

While  Honour's  voice  forbids  me  to  pursue, 
Speak  not  of  her! 

Did  I  not  live — 

Did  I  not  live  though  love  and  beauty  fled  ? 
For  they  dwell  in  her  eyes,  and  she  is 

flown; 
Though  Fate  her  wrath  exhausted  on  my 

> 

head, 

And  Reason,  sometimes,  almost  left  her 
throne  ? 


170 


Go,  go! — fear  not  my  wildness — go,  and 

let 
Me  rove  unwatched! — did  she  not  go?  and 

yet 

Did  I  not  live  ? 


171 


EPIGRAM. 


Debetur  canis  reverentia  sancta  capillis, 
Debetur  capiti,  Calve,  quid  ergo  tuo? 

JOAN.  PET.  LOTICHIUS, 


"  A  REVERENCE  to  gray  hair  is  due55 — 
That,  I  confess,  is  very  true; 
But  how  shall  reverence  e'er  be  shown 
Your  hair,  dear  fellow,  who  have  none  ? 


172 


THE  RUNAWAY  CUPID. 


PARAPHRASED  FROM  THE  ITALIAN. 


O  QUEEN  of  ev'ry  wild  desire, 
Which  can  the  enamoured  bosom  fire; 
Whose  incense  is  a  lover's  sighs, 
And  hearts  the  altars  which  you  prize; 
'Tis  said,  that,  rambling  in  his  play, 
Your  roguish  son  has  gone  astray, 
And  one  sweet  kiss  he  shall  obtain, 
Who  brings  the  wanton  back  again. 
Then,  goddess  of  each  soft  delight, 
Lament  no  longer  for  his  flight; 


173 

Not  distant  shall  thy  suppliant  rove 
To  find  the  little  wanderer,  Love: 
Oh  no! — but,  come,  the  kiss  impart, 
For,  see,  I  have  him — in  my  heart. 


174 


FROM  BUCHANAN'S  SYLVAE. 


Nec  mihi  quae  tenebris  condit  nox  omnia,  &c. 

OFT  to  my  heart  the  fairy  sprite, 
Recalls  the  scenes  of  past  delight; 
And  bids  me  view,  entranced,  the  while, 
Thy  radiant  eye,  and  heavenly  smile. 

But  soon,  alas!  the  vision  dies, 
Each  airy  form  of  transport  flies, 
And  thou,  e'en  thou,  O  lovely  fair! 
Leav'st  me  to  anguish  and  despair. 


175 


THE  commentators  have  supposed,  that 
under  the  image  of  a  ship,  HORACE  meant 
the  Republick;  and  that  the  fourteenth  ode 
of  his  first  book,  was  a  protest  against  a 
war  into  which  his  country  appeared  to  be 
entering,  when  in  a  situation  very  unpre 
pared  for  the  contest.  I  have  attempted 
an  imitation. 


O  SHIP!  what  newly  veering  gale, 
What  sudden  breakers  thus  assail, 

And  all  your  timbers  shock  ? l 
Why  tempt,  a  wreck,  the  stormy  main?2 
Come,  helm  a  lee !  about  again, 

And  keep  within  your  dock.3 


176 


Behold  your  sails,  not  half  unbent, 
Your  spars  by  southern  tempests  rent, 

And  all  things  out  of  places:4 
And  yet,  you  thus  would  brave  the  seas ! 
Too  frail  to  bear  a  mackerel  breeze, 

Without  new  stays  and  braces/ 

Your  canvass  see,  a  fluttering  rag,6 
Hangs  as  neglected  as  that  flag, 

Which  waved  when  dangers  tried  you. 
No  pilots  now  their  aid  to  lend, 
On  whom,  alas!  can  you  depend 

'Mongst  rocks  and  shoals  to  guide  you. 7 

Your  timbers,  once  the  dock-yard's  boast, 
Are  now  unfit  to  leave  the  coast, 
In  idleness  worm-eaten.8 


177 

The  wary  sailor  ne'er  relies 
On  painted  sides.9    O  yet  be  wise, 
Weigh  not,  thus  weather-beaten! 


10 


Source  of  my  pain,  my  toil,  my  care, u 
For  whom  still  love  enough  I  bear 

To  make  a  patriot  frantick;12 
May'st  thou — the  gods  my  wish  inspire — 
May'st  thou  escape  the  tempests  dire, 

That  howl  o'er  the  Atlantick.13 


1  O  navis,  referent  in  mare  te  novi 
Fluctus? — 2  O  quid  agis  ? — 3  Fortiter  occupa 
Portunu — 4  Nonne  vides,  ut 

Nudum  remigio  latus, 
Et  malus  celeri  saucius  Africo, 
Antennaeque  gemant  ? — 5  ac  sine  funibus 
Vix  durare  carinae 
Possint  imperiosivrs 


178 


Aequor? — 6  Non  tibi  sunt  Integra  lintea: 
7  Non  Di,  quos  iterum  pressa  voces  malo. 
8  Quamvis  Pontica  pinus, 

Silvae  filia  nobilis, 
Jactes  et  genus  et  nomen  inutile; 
9  Nil  pictis  timidus  navita  puppibus 
Fidit : — 10  tu,  nisi  ventis 
Debes  ludibrium,  cave. 

11  Nuper  sollicitum  quae  mihi  taedium, 

12  Nunc  desiderium,  curaque  non  levis, 

13  Interfusa  nitentes 

Vites  aequora  Cycladas. 


179 


STANZAS, 


WRITTEN  IN  THE  COUNTRY. 


SCENES  of  delight!  where  many  a  day 

Has  passed  on  rapid  pinions  by, 

Why  turn  I  from  your  charms  away, 

Or  view  them  only  with  a  sigh? 

Why  have  ye  lost  for  me  those  joys, 
That  once  were  to  my  heart  so  dear, 

When  from  a  crowded  city's  noise 
I  brought  a  hermit's  feelings  here  ? 


180 


Ye  are  the  same : — as  green  your  trees, 
As  richly  do  your  blossoms  glow, 

As  sweet  a  fragrance  fills  your  breeze, 
As  pure  your  winding  rivers  flow. 

Yet  I — how  changed  a  heart  is  mine! 

I  heedless  of  your  beauties  rove, 
While  doomed,  at  distance  doomed  to  pine 

From  her  whose  smile  is  life  and  love. 


INDEX. 

PAGE. 

The  Style  of  the  16th  Century  imitated  9 
Oberon  to  Titania  11 

From  Stephanus  Forcatulus  14 

Instructions  to  Manufacturers  16 

To  a  Belle  18 

Stanzas  in  imitation  of  the  most  approved 

writers  of  Love-Verses  20 

A  Pastoral  Love-Ditty  26 

A  Parting  Address  to  the  Inhabitants  of 

the  Island  of  Elba  32 

I  swore  I  loved,  and  true  I  swore  34 

Well — I  have  found  my  heart  again  36 
Ah!  lovely  maiden,  do  not  slight  44 


182 


Amatory  Stanzas  46 

'Twas  at  the  sultry  noontide  hour  48 

From  the  Italian  49 

From  the  French  52 

A  Lyrical  Ballad  58 

Ode  to  Market-street  Gutter  74 

Shall  Orpheus  be  forever  praised  76 

From  Joannes  Secundus  77 

Sonnet  80 

Catulli  Carmen  ad  Lesbiam  imitated      82 

To  Mrs.  —  84 

Anacreontique  86 

Epigram  88 

Versions  from  Lebeid  89 

Amru  96 

Hafiz  98 

Hafiz  100 

Amru  102 


183 


Lebeid  104 

Hafiz  106 

Amriolkais  108 

Hafiz  110 

Hafiz  112 

Hafiz  115 

Solomon  117 

Solomon  120 
Sweetly  the  day-dreams  on  our  senses 

steal  122 

Epigram  125 

Ned  loved  his  Kitty  passing  well  126 

Epigram  127 

From  Corderius  Lepidus  128 

Stanzas  written  at  Niagara  129 

From  Joannes  Secundus  133 

From  Joannes  Auratus  136 

Such  passion  in  my  bosom  grew  137 


184 


From  the  Italian  142 

A  Pathetic  Pastoral  143 
With  what  a  feverish  mind  do  I  behold  1 59 

Rondeau  167 

From  the  Italian  168 

Epigram  171 

The  Runaway  Cupid  172 

From  Buchanan's  Sylvae  174 

From  Horace  175 

Stanzas  written  in  the  Country  179 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediaterecalL 


LD  2lA-50m-8,'57 
(C8481slO)476B 


General  Library     . 
University  of  California 
Berkeley 


YC1601ZO 


